


Just Always Be Waiting for Me

by lovehoperomance (MrsStylinson), MrsStylinson



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, An ode to Louis, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bookworm Louis, Bottom Louis, Countless references to Peter Pan, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Harry pov, Hurt/Comfort, Jealous Harry, Jealous Louis, Librarian Harry, M/M, Minor Character Death, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Rimming, Sexual Trauma, Shamless lyric references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:40:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 46,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28384890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsStylinson/pseuds/lovehoperomance, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsStylinson/pseuds/MrsStylinson
Summary: Harry Styles is a librarian at a private school who is not very devoted to his job but is very devoted to Louis Tomlinson, the resident English teacher, and has been ever since they met six years ago beneath a lonely streetlight.Louis Tomlinson is a self confessed bookworm whose passion for Peter Pan, the literary classics and Harry Styles' happiness knows no bounds. He's self sacrificing, somewhat self loathing and haunted by a trauma he can't talk about.Mutual pining abounds in this fic where a Peter Pan quote is never just a Peter Pan quote, caretaking is a love language and a platonic nude is never actually platonic. Louis has a kiss that belongs to Harry but he also has a painful past that might end up hurting them both.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Zayn Malik/Liam Payne
Comments: 59
Kudos: 123





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE READ:
> 
> Warnings: Minor Character Death - The deaths of Jay and Robin are both dealt with in this fic. Neither of them are at the center of the fic and are not based solely on the real lives of the people involved. Please remember this is a work of fiction and that as such, though inspired by real life, these deaths and the circumstances surrounding them are fictional.
> 
> Non-Consensual Sex/Sexual Trauma - Not between H and L. If you would like a warning before the section which discusses this in somewhat graphic detail, please leave a comment and I will tell you what to look out for. I will also explain to you what you need to know :)
> 
> I'd like to reassure you that though this fic deals in some heavy topics, it's also very fluffy with eventual smut and a happy ending! It's set in 2020 but there is NO mention of covid.
> 
> And finally, this fic includes many references to Peter Pan by J.M. Barrie, as well as some references to F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Notebook, Titanic and Pride and Prejudice. These are mostly brief quotes which are indicated but this is a disclaimer that I do not own these, nor any 1D lyrics used, nor 1D themselves. 
> 
> Enjoy!

**Just Always Be Waiting for Me**

**2020: March**

Harry watched, with fondness, as Louis flirted around the library, plucking books from the shelves at random. He was humming contentedly to himself and stacking them like a Jenga tower, poised to fall at any moment.

“As long as I live, I’ll never understand how you get all your marking done between all of that reading.”

Louis looked up at him with a twinkle in his eye and a kiss on his lips that rightfully belonged to Harry. After all, Louis had promised it to him quite seriously five years ago. He’d said it after far too many pitchers of margaritas and while he was slumped against Harry’s neck in the car on the way home. But Harry had never forgotten. He’d never stopped hoping.

“Never is an awfully long time.” Louis grinned.

Tell me about it, he thought. He’d never stop hoping that Louis would show him some kind of sign but never could turn out to be forever.

“Is there a Peter Pan quote you don’t have a use for?” Harry said, bemused.

Louis had declared himself devoted to Peter Pan the very first time Harry met him, standing beneath a streetlight outside the school they were both due to start work at the following day. They’d both decided to check it out, pre first day, in the hopes that it would ease their nerves. Louis was twenty-two and starting his first teaching job and Harry was a twenty-one-year old English graduate about to become the new head librarian at a school he couldn’t even get into when he was a student. They were both intimidated as hell but Louis looked like a lifeline, standing underneath that buttery yellow streetlight with his hands in his pockets. His messy brown hair had been stuffed beneath a red beanie and he wore matching converse on his feet with little smiley faces drawn on the toes.

“I’m a huge Peter Pan enthusiast.” He had told Harry as they walked through the grounds, swapping slightly wobbly smiles. Harry noticed that his new friend held the ends of his sleeves inside his palms, covering his hands. Harry took stock of his small lips, not at all blowjob lips, and the little creases beneath his eyes that would carry bags when he was older. He was interesting to look at, maybe even lovely, but not Harry’s type. “I think that’s why I want to teach. I think if you’re always educating the next generation, you can never grow old, you know? You never become irrelevant.”

Harry quickly learned Louis had the kind of bone deep maturity that becomes available not through age but through pain. Still; he was certain Louis would never become irrelevant. He aged like a fine wine or the crumbly vintage cheddar he always brought over for their movie nights. He would never give up the magic of youth that showed in his face now as he carefully opened the cover of Alice in Wonderland, eyes aglow. Each time, it was as if it was his first time reading it and not the fifth.

To gaze at Louis while he gazed into the pages of a book was to be reminded of the tapestry of tales that made up your own childhood. The light behind his eyes appeared peach-coloured, if not brighter, like the golden silk interwoven with Harry’s own memories of running through the wooded area behind his house, kicking up a cloud of dirt with his shoes and giggling like a loon.

There’s an age at which passion seems frivolous and other worlds become unreachable. But knowing Louis and the spark that sat beneath his skin sent Harry back down the rabbit hole all over again. With Louis in his life, Wonderland would cease never to exist. Hogwarts would never be too far away. Neverland would always be waiting for him in the palm of Louis’ hand.

“Want to take Alice out for another spin?” Harry asked him.

Louis’ tongue darted out as he debated his very real time constraints during the examination period.

Inevitably, he added it to his growing pile of books anyway. It was late afternoon on a Friday and the library had quickly emptied. Bright rays of sunshine from the ochre sky outside crept beneath the blinds and blinded Harry. He could feel the first hints of that familiar summertime laziness seeping through his body like syrup, despite the fact that it was barely spring. It was summer-warm today and Harry knew they’d be behaving accordingly.

He could almost taste the salt rim on the cocktails they’d be drinking later and feel the sharp blades of grass snaking between his toes when they eventually ended up in a park with a bottle of wine and a pack of playing cards. He longed to stretch out beneath the sun on their summer holidays, reading the fantasy books he adored, and snacking on celery with peanut butter.

“Yes please.” Louis flashed his teeth. “Who needs to sleep? Alice would miss me, Harry.”

Harry shook his head again, a little exasperated and a lot lovesick. Louis got very little sleep in between reading, marking and nights out with the boys. He’d sent many a devastating night-time snap over the last few years at an outrageous time of night. Harry worried. And not just about Louis’ rowdiness. Louis and sleep did not seem to get along, whatsoever. Harry believed it to be a symptom of a larger problem, one they didn’t discuss and hadn’t for almost six years. There could be nothing gained from talking about it until Louis was ready.

**Roughly one year ago**

_Harry sat bolt upright in his bed when he heard the ringtone that belonged to Louis. It was Look After You by The Fray. Louis got pissed off the first time he heard it, assuming Harry was making fun of him for the angsty YouTube cover he’d made when he was seventeen. He’d once been an X Factor hopeful with a bowl cut and a cardigan that was much too short. But Harry actually loved the video. He liked the way Louis’ voice wavered with emotion; his eyes partially hidden by a hideous haircut._

_He didn’t tell Louis the real reason for the ringtone because the truth was; it had a very literal meaning to him. It was one he knew, instinctively, Louis would shy away from. It was obvious that Louis had a very specific issue with being perceived as vulnerable. It explained why he changed the subject whenever Harry asked him how he’d been sleeping. It explained why he picked at his food when Harry brought dinner to him while he was stuck at school, preparing lessons. He was kind, sometimes even sweet, when Harry did things for him. Mostly. But there was some sort of line and Harry had been sidestepping it ever since they’d met._

_“Louis?” He panted into the phone, clutching his chest. “Are you okay?”_

_Loud music and laughter blasted through the speakers and reverberated inside Harry’s skull._

_“It’s Zayn.”_

_Harry pinched his nose, fighting the remaining tendrils of sleep that were curling around him like tentacles and giving him brain fog._

_“Zayn? Where’s Louis? Why do you have his phone?”_

_Harry had opted out of drinks and dancing tonight with the excuse that he was too tired from work. Louis seemed less than convinced but Harry wasn’t going to tell him that he’d had his fill of watching him grind up on tall, dark and handsome strangers. Every week, he’d watch Louis whisper dirty things in their ears and make them laugh with whatever witty comment he kept in his back pocket for occasions exactly like those. It wasn’t Harry’s idea of a good time._

_The men Louis danced with and then took home were always enraptured, always asked for his number the next morning and seemed genuinely intent on seeing where things might lead, but Louis was strictly a one-night man. A one-night man for now, he claimed, when Harry asked. His eyes were soft and leaden when he said it but it didn’t seem like he would ever be interested in more._

_“He‘s in the bathroom.”_

_“Okay?”_

_“He went in with some guy and he looked alright but when he came out, he was pale and shaky and said he needed a cigarette. I took his shoulder to guide him out of the bar. He’s so little, I always feel like I’ll lose him, you know? And then he just turned around and scratched me. I was shocked so I kind of yelled at ‘im and swore a bit and then he ran off. And now he won’t come out and talk to me. Harry, I’ve never seen him look like that. He was terrified.”_

_“Oh.” Harry was starting to put the pieces together._

_“What do you mean, oh? Do you know something I don’t?”_

_It wasn’t Harry’s story to tell. He slid out of bed and put on some joggers and a loose t-shirt. He picked up his keys._

_“Um, no. I think he probably just had a bit of a panic attack.”_

_Zayn was silent for a moment._

_“You don’t think...you don’t think that guy hurt him, do you?” His voice was hushed. “I let him go in there with that guy. H, if something happened...”_

_Harry crept through the silent flat, rolling his eyes at the number of empty bottles the other guys had left out after pre drinks._

_“No. I don’t think that’s what it is. I just need to talk to Louis. Just wait with him. I’m coming.”_

_“Okay, okay.” Zayn’s breathing quieted and then Harry heard the sounds of the club falling away and a door slowly clicking shut. “Babe, it’s just me. Again. Harry’s on his way.”_

_Harry could hear the faintest groan._

_“What? Why would you wake him? I’m sorry for scratching you, Z. Just call him back and tell him I’m fine.”_

_Zayn cleared his throat._

_“Ah....he’s on the phone now?”_

_Louis swore._

_“Give it.”_

_Harry heard the phone skate across the bathroom floor and shuddered to think of the kind of fluids it might have picked up. There was a clattering sound and then Louis’ voice came through the speaker._

_“Haz, I’m fine. I promise.”_

_“You’re locked in a bathroom after scratching one of your best friends,” He said. “Excuse me if I don’t believe you.”_

_He couldn’t see Louis rolling his eyes but he knew that he was._

_“I didn’t mean to. I was just a bit jumpy. Don’t come, alright? Please.”_

_Harry squeezed his keys and then put them back down on the counter._

_“On one condition.”_

_“Anything.”_

_“You let Zayn bring you here. Now.”_

_“Fine.”_

_There was a pause and then Zayn was back on._

_“We’ll be there soon. Bye.”_

_“Bye.”_

_Harry sat on the couch, nursing a cup of coffee and fighting his closing eyelids, until Louis arrived. Louis followed Zayn in and watched, forlorn, as he squeezed both their shoulders and then went straight to Liam’s room where he spent most of his time._

_“I’m not going to ask you what happened with that guy or if it has anything to do with your history.” Harry leaned against the back of the couch where he stood, clad in his softest white joggers, his shirt discarded. He watched Louis try to grind out his instinctual response to the mention of the unmentionable. “I just want to give you a hug.”_

_Louis’ face softened but he still hadn’t moved._

_“No expectations? No explanations?”_

_“None.” He held out his arms, feeling kind of silly when Louis didn’t immediately run into them. “C’mere. Let me fulfil my best friend duties.”_

_Louis walked over and then wrapped his arms around Harry’s neck. He turned his head to the side and rested his cheek on Harry’s pec._

_“Thank you.” He whispered._

_“Bed? For a cuddle?”_

_“Mm. So tired. Danced so much.”_

_Harry gripped the underside of this thighs and picked him up, steadying them both with a hand on Louis’ lower back. Louis wrapped his arms more tightly around Harry’s neck and snuggled in close. He let out his first snore before Harry made it to his bedroom. He tried not to laugh too loudly. Louis’ snores were surprisingly large for such a small person but Harry suspected it had something to do with his button nose and how little air flow he probably got through it._

_Harry laid him down against his sheets and then took his vans off. He shook his head at the size of them which continued to amaze him, all these years later. He chucked them in the corner, too tired to care and then collapsed beside Louis, pulling the covers up over them both. As soon as he closed his eyes, he felt Louis turn onto his side, facing him, and bury his face in Harry’s arm._

_“Sweet dreams, love.” Harry said and kissed his head._

_He was just happy to hear Louis sleeping so soundly. He wouldn’t wake him in the morning, not until brunch, which they’d have together. Louis’ laugh had not been as light as usual the past week and his eyes had been a sadder shade of cornflower blue. Harry wanted to ask… wanted to but couldn’t. Louis had his unmentionables and Harry respected them for the sake of their friendship._

*

_Harry cleaned bed linen when he was anxious. He liked the smell of the fabric softener, the same brand his mum bought, and the way that the freshly dried sheets felt against his skin, almost as soft and warm as another person’s skin. It was a little sad when he thought about it that way but he’d done it ever since he first moved to London. Plus, once Niall moved in to the flat with him and Liam, it became clear that he would never wash his sheets without Harry’s intervention._

_Harry was a Mum, capital M, according to most of his friends and a domestic goddess according to Louis. Louis often brought his clothes round just so they could do washing “together” but ended up sitting on the dryer, kicking his feet against it and reading pretentious poetry aloud._

_“You have washing powder on your butt.”_

_Harry was mid frenzy. He was on his third load of washing and quickly running out of things to wash. It was a Wednesday evening, a school night, and he should have been going through his activity binder for book week. Instead, he was doing this._

_“If you wanted an excuse to rub my butt, you only had to ask.”_

_Louis came up behind him and did exactly that, squeezing a little. It elicited a high-pitched squeak from Harry._

_“Manly.” Louis’ sharp teeth dug into his shoulder. He’d always been a biter, according to Jay. He’d bitten clean through the first teddy she ever bought him. He bites the things that belong to him, she’d once said with a smirk. Harry had blushed like a school boy._

_“That’s the most manly I’ve been in years.” Harry joked but it felt stale in his mouth. “Very butch, I am.”_

_“Harry.” Louis grabbed him by the bicep, fingers curling into his holey sweater. The leaves were just beginning to turn golden outside and today, it had still been warm enough to share cold drinks in a beer garden near their flat. But Harry didn’t need to be cold to wear his winter clothes. He just needed to be sad or anxious enough. “What’s up, love?”_

_Instead of answering, Harry turned inwards and wrapped his whole body around Louis’, enveloping him completely. Louis felt so much better than warm dryer sheets. He pressed his cheek to Louis’ soft hair and inhaled the scent of lemons._

_“As much as I enjoy being smothered,” Louis’ teeth were in his shoulder again as he pushed his head up. “I’d actually like to know if you’re okay, too.”_

_Harry just squeezed tighter in response and rocked them from side to side. He couldn’t hear the other guys over the sound of the dryer. His world had narrowed down to vanilla scented fabric softener and the bright green vans Louis wore on his feet. There was a scar on his left ankle, from the time he’d gotten a little too confident in his skateboarding skills and a sloppy tattoo of a butterfly Harry had drawn the first time they got drunk together. It was bright blue and looked spectacular under a streetlight, walking home from a bar._

_“Harry.” Louis was relentless. “You’re in a tizzy. I want to know why.”_

_Harry lasted all of about five seconds before he sighed into Louis’ hair. He managed to inhale an errant strand and coughed it out like a cat with a fur ball. God knew it wasn’t the first time that had happened._

_“I think I’m going nowhere in life.” He moaned. “I’m twenty-six years old and I’m still single, with no babies and no real dreams. Plus, this morning, I found an actual grey hair!”_

_“You did not.” Louis’ voice was dry. He crossed his arms. “You found one of Niall’s bleached blonde hairs and assumed it was somehow related to your own personal crisis.”_

_Harry considered that._

_“Well...maybe.” Louis’ lips were teasing a smirk and god, he really shouldn’t be so attractive when he was obviously making fun. “But that’s not the point. I want a spouse. And babies. And a home that doesn’t smell like sweaty socks and Nando’s.”_

_He wrinkled his nose at the thought but Louis outright laughed._

_“Love, you’ll have all those things. One day. But there’s no rush. You’re 26, not fucking 60. And even if you were—“_

_“If you say some inspirational shit about how you’re never too old to fall in love.”_

_Louis held up his hands, grinning._

_“I wouldn’t dare. I just, I mean why do you want to find someone so bad, anyhow?”_

_Louis looked younger than usual, tipping his head up and studying Harry’s face like it held an answer to something he’d long been asking the universe._

_“Why?” Harry cupped his face. “Because, ‘if you’re a bird, I’m a bird.’ ‘If you jump, I jump.’ ‘You have bewitched me, body and soul and I love...I love....I love you.’”_

_The words, though mere quotes, left him parched. Louis had not stopped looking at him, had not cracked a smile or fluttered a single eyelash. He was never fully still, but he was now._

_“Pride and prejudice. Nice.” He said, somehow completely neutral. “But how about this? ‘Forget them, Wendy. Forget them all. Come with me where you’ll never, never have to worry about grown up things again.’”_

_Peter Pan, of course. Harry pressed his thumb right to the corner of Louis’ eye where it was downturned._

_“‘I love her and that is the beginning and end of everything.’”_

_“F. Scott Fitzgerald?” Louis pressed the corner of a smile into the side of Harry’s palm. “You’ve been reading the books I gave you. Okay. I see your F. Scott Fitzgerald and raise you one Stephen King. ‘Hearts can break. Yes, hearts can break. Sometimes I think we’d be better off if we died when they did but we don’t.’”_

_“My little pessimist.”_

_Harry squeezed his cheeks and then let go. They were both grinning now but there was a hint of something heavier around Louis’ mouth. He didn’t respond so Harry went on._

_“You can’t convince me it isn’t worth it to fall in love. It’s what you want too, right? Some day?”_

_“Um. I guess. If it’s possible. If it doesn’t destroy me or the person that I’m with.”_

_“It is possible.” Harry frowned. “And it doesn’t destroy you. It creates you. You are born again at the point at which you fall in love with someone else.”_

_Harry had been watching a lot of rom coms lately. Louis enjoyed them too, even the sappiest bits, but not the way Harry did, with a confession on the tip of his tongue and the hope that one day it would be him running through an airport to catch up to the love of his life._

_“My little dreamer.” Louis mocked him. “Please don’t stress about it. It will happen when it happens.”_

_“All I need is faith, trust and a little pixie dust.”_

_Louis’ laugh bounced off the walls of the laundry and Harry imagined it skipping across every surface until it found its home in him. Harry grabbed his hand and brought it to his own chest. Louis clung to his collar._

_“And that’s all you need too.”_

*

**2020: Still March**

Harry got the call on a Sunday afternoon when he was in the middle of planning book events for the week. He picked up straight away when he saw Louis’ name flash on the caller ID screen.

There was one long minute of silence and Harry was just about to ask when Louis’ rough voice pierced the air.

“She passed an hour ago.”

“Oh, Lou. Darling. I’m so sorry.” Harry sucked back his own tears, his own sadness. Jay was like a second mother to him. “What do you need? What can I do?”

“Can I come over?” Louis sounded so hoarse. “I know I should be with the girls right now but I just. I just can’t.”

His voice broke open on the word can’t and Harry’s heart broke with it.

“I’ll come and get you. You need some time away. You’ve been looking after everyone but yourself for the past six months.”

“Okay. Um, yeah. Yeah I think I just...I need it. Just some time with you. I’ll see you soon. Just—could you bring some pizza or something? For the girls? Lottie hasn’t eaten in....god knows how long.”

“Course. Just sit tight. I’ll be right there, baby.”

Harry didn’t even think about it until he was in the car on the way over and even then, he didn’t want to. _Baby_. Chances are, Louis hadn’t noticed. God, Harry shouldn’t even be thinking about it. He felt like a twat. Jay was gone. _Jay_. The woman who raised Louis and happened to be his best friend before Harry came along. He choked back a sob, slamming his fist against the wheel. He’d known her for just six years but it felt like so much longer. She’d fully embraced him as a member of the family.

He ended up picking up three pizzas, two for the girls and one for Louis, a loaf of garlic bread, some soft drink and a huge tub of ice cream.

He texted Louis as soon as he arrived and he came out with his head down and a small overnight bag over his shoulder. Lottie was following behind him with a hand pressed into his shoulder and streaky make up covering her face. Her white-blonde hair was in a messy top knot and she was wearing the same kind of holey sweats as her brother, only his were grey and hers were black.

“Hey,” Harry said, heavy voice floating out over the open window.

That one word seemed to interrupt Louis’ grief fog and when he looked up at Harry, his eyes were lined with dark shadows and swimming in tears. Thin sheets of rain had begun to fall on the drive here and it suited this moment to a tee. For nothing could be as blue as this goodbye. Not the wide expanse of sky above them, marred by clouds, not Louis’ eyes, stripped of hope, not even the ache in Harry’s own heart when he saw that Louis hadn’t shaved in a week.

“Hey, come here.” Harry opened his car door just in time for Louis to collapse into him, quiet sobs collecting in the space between his shoulder and his jaw. “I’m so sorry, Lou. I’m so sorry.”

He cupped the back of his best friend’s head and melted into him, choking back tears himself. It was minutes before he was able to direct Lottie to the food he brought for the girls, passing on a quiet but heartfelt condolence to her.

“Thanks for this.” She said, nodding at Louis and not the food. Louis had clambered up onto his lap and had his head buried in Harry’s chest. Harry knew what she meant. Thanks for allowing him to let his guard down. Because no doubt Louis wouldn’t have ever let himself go to pieces like this in front of his younger siblings. “I’ll see you at the funeral, Harry.”

Harry smiled grimly and waved as she headed back inside. Then he addressed the hiccupping man in his lap.

“Hey,” he pulled Louis’ head back, smoothing his limp hair. “I brought you some pizza too. And some Pepsi. Will you have something to eat for me? And some sugar? You look exhausted, love.”

Louis nodded and wiped his runny nose on the sleeve of his jumper. It really shouldn’t have been as endearing as it was.

“Pepperoni?” He asked with wide, glossy eyes.

“Of course.” Harry tweaked his ear and kissed the spot he loved the most, just beside his button nose. It had the tiniest freckle. You could only see it if you were close enough to kiss and Harry was fortunate enough to have had that with Louis, if nothing else. “Do you think I don’t know you or something?”

Louis laughed, somewhat hysterically, and climbed over the gear stick to sit in his seat, reaching back to grab the pizza and the soft drink from the back. As Harry watched him eat, barely breathing in between bites, he thought to himself that taking care of this man fulfilled him in a way he’d never been fulfilled before Louis. He wasn’t religious but he sometimes wondered if taking care of someone you loved was what people really meant when they said they were doing ‘God’s work.’

“What, do I have ham on my face or something?” Louis asked, rubbing at his cheek hard enough to bruise.

“No, you dolt.”

Harry pulled his hand away and brought it to his mouth, kissing his palm. It wasn’t remotely platonic but he’d somehow gotten away with exactly this before. Louis often reciprocated with his own sweet touches, albeit usually when he was feeling particularly soft and sleepy. This time, he blushed beet red and bit his lip.

“I couldn’t leave them if I wasn’t leaving with you,” he said, quiet. “If I didn’t....I mean, it feels so selfish.”

“I know.” Harry said. “But you could stand to be a little more selfish sometimes. Besides, Lottie is an adult now. She can be their mama bear for one night.”

Louis’ eyes fluttered shut at the word mama and he leaned his head against Harry’s shoulder.

“Can we go home now?”

“Course, love.”

Harry started the car, swallowing down the blockage in his throat that rose up like sea water on a shoreline. Louis’ sweater paw had claimed his hand and the crying of before, albeit quieter now, immediately resumed.

*

“Don’t fall asleep,” Louis whispered, hours later, eyelids sinking towards his cheeks.

They’d been watching Christmas movies for the better part of six hours. Harry had plied Louis with even more food and cuddles and paused the film every time Louis fell into reminiscing. He described in detail some of the best nights of his childhood to Harry. Like the time Jay took them all to the city for the first time and Louis spent all of his pocket money in a sweet shop, much to her chagrin. Or the time she’d figured out he was gay before he did and invited the cutest boy in his class over for dinner, hoping it’d prompt him into confessing. That plan of hers had ended with his first kiss, up against a tree, around the corner from his house so his mum wouldn’t know. She’d only found out two years later when he finally came clean to her about why he always blushed whenever she used that tree as a background for their family photos.

“Why don’t you want me to sleep?” Harry answered him now. “Aren’t you tired, love?”

“I’d miss you too much.” Louis said and then his mouth dropped open in a snore.

Harry almost laughed but found himself tearing up instead. This man who loved him like a best friend meant the world. He treated Harry like he was a soul mate, of sorts, and that was enough, wasn’t it? That was more than enough. He couldn’t take anything for granted after Louis had just lost the most important person in his life. It almost broke him when Louis had turned to him halfway through Home Alone 2 and had said, “I’ll never hug her again, Haz. Never is an awfully long time, you know?”

He didn’t even seem to realise he was quoting Peter Pan. He just missed his mum and felt the ache of it that would grow older and yet never fully disappear. Harry imagined that if they sliced open Louis’ heart, years from now, they could trace every fault line back to a moment spent missing Jay. All those scars would tell a story of the deepest winter that raged inside his heart and the spring that would one day emerge, forever marked by those months when nothing had grown but sadness.

Looking at his sleeping face, knit with tension, Harry knew this pain would be permanent but he also knew Louis had survived so much already. Life could be awfully lonely and had been for them both, when their parents would argue long into the night and their respective academic careers had been filled mainly with mediocrity. Then, on the eve of failure, they’d found both fiction and each other. Life was a fearsome, solo voyage and it was only for the brave, but Louis was among the bravest Harry knew.

**Roughly two years ago**

_Liam was stirring the taco sauce for Mexican night. He had a slight wrinkle in his work shirt from where Zayn had squeezed his hip before he went and helped himself to a glass of wine and left to go watch Gogglebox with Niall._

_Harry had chosen to sit on the kitchen counter, overseeing the whole process, because it made him feel like he was watching a cooking show. Plus, Liam was particularly entertaining to watch. He vacillated between complete chaos and complete calm, depending on how many factors he could control. If Harry rearranged the kitchen, before he cooked, for_

_instance, he tended towards panic. This evening, he was calm and neutral as he stirred the pot and spoke to Harry._

_“Have you ever noticed that Louis hates the colour white? It just occurred to me the other day when you changed your bedspread and he ended up sleeping in Niall’s room instead. He looked so put off when he walked in there and saw it.”_

_Harry was still miffed about Louis crashing with Niall instead. He knew he didn’t have a right to feel so bitter about it but Niall had smelled of Louis’ aftershave for the entirety of the next day and he didn’t want to think about why. He doubted anything had happened but Niall had walked around with a shit eating grin the whole day, as if he knew Harry was bothered. He must have been particularly amused because he knew that Harry would never stoop low enough to ask if they’d actually had sex._

_“No, he doesn’t.” Harry laughed._

_It was the kind of thing he’d know about his best friend. He knew all kinds of things about Louis. Like the fact that his favourite colour was blue. Not like his eyes. Not like the ocean. Like the ultraviolet blue you get in a driftwood fire. The first nail polish bottle he ever bought was bright blue with silver glitter._

_Harry knew more than any of the other boys. He knew that when Louis thought about the GSA he joined at university, he thought about nights spent holed up in bean bags in the campus centre. He’d watched queer films with his friend Elliot and they’d painted each other’s nails over and over, a different fluorescent colour each time._

_He knew Louis hated pickles, bananas (an actual crime) and garnishes on meals that didn’t need to be garnished (all of them, according to him). His favourite flowers were Forget-Me-Nots because when he was little his grandma told him that if he gave Forget-Me-Nots to his best friend, his friend would never forget him when he moved away. Stan had asked his mum to press and then frame the flowers Louis gave him. It was still a fond memory for them both. Louis’ favourite takeaway was Thai and his favourite song was She Moves in Her Own Way by The Kooks. Harry knew him, the simple things and the complex. He’d know if Louis hated the colour white._

_“He hates the hospital. And the doctors.” Liam said._

_Harry gave him a look that said, “so?” Liam could say some weird shit sometimes._

_“Okay, that was a bad example. He doesn’t like going to the snow. That one weekend when we went, he only came out on the slopes with us once.”_

_“He was sick.” Harry said, defensive for some reason he couldn’t quite name. He remembered Louis calling him from the cabin. Harry had been away with his own family but Louis had definitely sounded hoarse. From a cold or from crying? Harry suddenly wondered._

_“I guess.” Liam sprinkled some more chilli into the sauce. “It’s not a big deal. Just thought maybe it was a thing. I was reading about it on a website a few years back. Colours can be coded into memories of trauma.”_

_Harry laughed it off but two days later, he found himself thinking about it while he was on the phone to Louis as they both did their washing. He knew he had to ask._

_“You don’t um, hate the colour white, do you?”_

_Louis’ laugh was immediate._

_“What gave you that impression?”_

_“Oh, nothing.” He didn’t want to give Liam away. Louis got funny about these things sometimes, like people commenting on the way he did things was some form of psychoanalysis. Maybe, in this case, he was right. “It’s just...you don’t like the snow, do you?”_

_Louis was silent. Harry went on, choosing not to linger on it._

_“And your room is covered in posters and photos. And I remember you telling me you chose your flat because the walls remind you of daises.”_

_“They do.” Louis’ voice was flat. It reminded Harry of the way he’d sounded the morning after the most difficult conversation they’ve ever had. Louis didn’t need to outright tell him to let something go. Harry knew when he was getting close to the point of no return._

_“Okay.” Harry paused, wondering if he should leave it. “You know...I can change my bedspread if—“_

_“No.” Louis was adamant. “Don’t.”_

_Then he changed the subject and Harry just... let him. He didn’t change his bedspread but when it was time to wash his sheets, he chose bright blue ones instead._

*

**2020: April**

Two weeks after the funeral, Louis decided he wanted to go out for the first time.

“He wants to get fucked by somebody. Hard.” Niall said to him as they were getting ready.

Niall really had no empathy for Harry’s situation. Being hopelessly in love with your best friend and not wanting to risk losing the friendship was “just being chicken shit” according to him. Ever since Harry had confided in him after Louis left trivia night early a few years back, Niall had been both a horrible flirt around Louis and increasingly dismissive of Harry’s fears. It was rotten luck that Liam still got on with all his old friends.

Niall saw the look on his face and snorted.

“Oh, don’t pout. I could do him? I mean you’re always saying you just want him to be happy. Maybe he’d be happiest face down on my—“

“Niall, mate.” Liam came through from the kitchen, wafting an excessive amount of cologne into the area and rocking a purple, patterned shirt that Harry had finally persuaded him to wear. “I think Harry’s going to burst a blood vessel if you keep talking.”

Liam had always been his favourite. Well, strictly speaking, the opposite was true. When they first moved in together, Harry wondered what had happened to the devil may care smile and obnoxious snap backs Liam had worn in school. He had grown into a properly uptight adult with a closed mind.

Harry had clashed with him on all things from gender politics to cooking. But with a little patience from him and a little more open mindedness from Liam, they’d learned to get along. Being friends with Liam had led to him meeting Niall, Liam’s family friend, who moved in shortly after Harry’s own move to London. Liam had eventually invited his boyfriend, Zayn, to come share his room with him. Splitting the rent four ways made their flat a steal and Harry and Zayn only ever clashed over two things; their taste in music and Louis.

Zayn stalked out of his room in dark jeans, eyeliner and nothing else, his lips wrapped around a limp cigarette he’d probably meant to light but had forgotten all about. That usually only happened when he’d been on the phone to someone. Most interactions exhausted him, even the ones he enjoyed.

“Was just on the phone to Lou.” He squeezed Liam’s hip briefly then came to sit in Harry’s lap. “Think you’d better let him find someone tonight, okay? No proprietary touches or acting like a needy drunk so that he’ll pay attention to you again. Be supportive, not selfish.”

Harry tried not to groan or swear. God, he was supportive. The _most_ supportive. He’d been the designated driver who’d gotten Louis and his one night stands safely back to his flat too many times to count. He’d chosen Louis’ ‘fuck me’ outfits. He’d even brainstormed techniques for blowjobs while fighting an imminent hard on himself. But yes, he could admit, sometimes he couldn’t help but intervene. Sometimes when he was a little bit tipsy and a lot emotional, he needed Louis all to himself.

“Hey, c’mon babe, that’s a bit harsh.” Liam frowned. “He’s not a total twat.”

Harry wrapped his arm around Zayn’s waist to stop him falling off the side of the couch. Again.

“Gee, thanks Payno.” He pointed his fingers at them. “But you’re all well intentioned. Except for you, Niall. I’m half convinced you’d actually fuck him if you were his type.”

Niall grinned and it was far too salacious for Harry’s liking.

“I’m not going to get in the way of Louis’ orgasm tonight.” Harry continued. “He deserves one. Or many. The funeral was fucking awful for him,” they all collectively shuddered, “and he needs to let loose. So, consider me part of the team. Mission: get Louis fucked.”

“Hear, hear.” Zayn said and kissed Harry’s cheek. He could be sweet when he wanted to be. “Now let’s go. We all know Louis needs Harry’s outfit approval before he’ll go anywhere.”

Harry grinned at that and gently punched Zayn in the side.

“Only cause I know what makes him look the most fuckable.”

“Oh really. What’s he wearing in your wet dreams? Nothing but whipped cream?”

Harry glared at him, and didn’t answer, but an image of Louis in white lace underwear and one of Harry’s oversized university jumpers came to mind.

“Let’s just go.”

*

**Roughly Three Years Ago**

_Harry had fallen in love with books for the first time when he read Pan and Hook, a queer re-imagining of Peter Pan. He was fifteen, crushing on his next-door neighbour and being teased mercilessly for the crack in his puberty-affected voice._

_He had fallen in love with books for a second time when he gave the very same copy to Louis and watched him curl up on the armchair in his flat, devouring it in one go._

_“I can’t believe you held out on me for so long.” Louis said when he finished, closing the book and tilting his head back against his chair. The green leather crackled beneath him. It stood in sharp and awful contrast to the yellow walls but Louis was unmoved by Harry’s lectures about interior decorating. Harry noticed that his eyelashes were coated in tiny droplets of water from the tears he’d cried during the final pages. He really was a sucker for a happy ending. “You know how much I love Peter Pan.”_

_Harry smiled at him and crossed his legs beneath himself, warming his hands on the cup of tea Louis had gotten up to make him, book still firmly in hand. Louis could read in a car, while jaywalking across a busy road and even by the dim light of his phone screen at six a.m. in the bedroom of Harry’s flat._

_“I’m sorry. I haven’t thought of it in years. Not until I saw you re-reading the original. I take it, you like it?”_

_Louis laughed, softly. The dim glow of the lamp beside them lit up the bottom half of his face, so angular and sharp. Harry wondered what it would be like to map it out with his mouth._

_“I do. I feel sorry for Hook, though.”_

_Harry frowned._

_“You do? He was happy with Peter.”_

_“Mm.” Louis closed his eyes, running his hand all the way down from his thigh to his knee. He was wearing light coloured jeans that sat high on his waist and a loose grey shirt that finished just above his belly button. It made Harry think of the first summer they spent together, camping under the stars on weekends, bar hopping on weeknights, and watching Disney movies every day, the window in Harry’s flat left open for weeks. He remembered the way the breeze had ruffled Louis’ fringe, leaving it impossibly tousled. Louis had worn nothing but neutral colours all summer and tortured Harry with white tanks that slid up into the crease of his waist when he sat down. “I guess. But he was such a sucker sometimes, always doing the absolute most for Peter. What did Peter ever do for him? What did he have to offer in return?”_

_Louis’ closed eyelids were filled with sharp little lines and he’d fisted his own shirt. Harry wanted to reach over but felt it wasn’t the right time._

_“Um, his love?” Louis scoffed at that like Harry thought he might. “It might seem silly to you but that’s enough for some people.”_

_Harry’s voice was too thick for such a basic debate and Louis cracked an eye open at his tone._

_“If we’re talking about you, I’m still right. You deserve so much more than that.” He said. “You deserve reciprocity.”_

_“This isn’t about me.”_

_“Isn’t it? You’re a caretaker. Always have been.”_

_“So are you.”_

_Harry thought about Louis’ sisters, showered with presents that Louis bought with the bonus he earned from consistently winning the Best Teacher Award, voted on by the students. He thought of Jay, who got her feet rubbed every time Louis came home. He thought of Niall and Liam and Zayn, lit up by a single compliment from Louis, so earnest and warm. He thought of himself and the way that Louis stood up for him every time someone walked into him and didn’t say sorry or a student made a dismissive comment about ‘the stupid library.’ He thought of winters spent falling asleep holding Louis and waking up to Louis holding him instead, a little jet pack tucked up against him, keeping him safe._

_“That’s different.”_

_“Taking care of someone you love isn’t a burden. Not if you really love them. Not if they feel the same.”_

_“But there are some people who don’t want to be taken care of.” Louis said. “There are some burdens that can’t be shared.”_

_Harry knew what Louis was thinking about and he disagreed. Their friendship was a direct contradiction of that._

_“Maybe.”_

_Harry didn’t want to push. He fell silent and Louis’ eyes fell shut. He put his mug down. Then he reached over and plucked Louis out of the chair, hoisting him up and into his lap while Louis squirmed and cursed the fact that he was being manhandled._

_“Harold. You know I’m not a baby. I don’t actually have to be in someone’s arms to fall asleep.”_

_Harry wouldn’t comment on how much better Louis slept while being spooned. They both knew it was true._

_“Shh.” He picked up his own book, the one he’d been trying and failing to read while he watched Louis. “I’m reading.”_

_He had one hand on Louis’ back while his legs hung either side of Harry’s lap. He expected Louis to complain and squirm and lie down sideways, shoving his feet beneath his thighs instead. But he must have been so sleep deprived. The smell of tea, the sound of the rainstorm outside and the dim lighting sent him virtually face planting into Harry’s neck. Two hours later, Harry carried him to bed._

_*_

_Harry sat down with Louis at the restaurant they’d been frequenting, on and off, for years. Three years ago, not long after they’d met, Harry would take Louis to sandwich bars and little vegan cafes tucked away between the chain stores he despised. Harry wasn’t vegan but he loved to pick things off a menu where everything was made of vegetables or fruits. Limited meat consumption was his way of doing right by the environment. His decision to indulge in every version of avocado pasta he could possibly find was his way of doing right by him._

_Back then, Louis took him to pizza places with New York style deep dish or his local chip shop where he groaned at Harry’s preference for peas and gravy. He loved forcing Harry into McDonald’s at every possible juncture or railroading him into visiting every takeaway chain store that served greasy food and drinks that tasted more like desserts. It took only a few weeks for Harry to broker their new deal; they’d both get to choose a place to eat once a month. Aside from that, they’d dine only at places they both enjoyed. McDonald’s was not included on the list of limited food outlets because while Harry was loath to admit it, nothing tasted better than a cheeseburger meal with extra fries when he was drunk or hangover._

_Harry had found Rosario’s on a list of places to take your fussy child. Louis still didn’t know that. It was enough for them both that there was a mix of healthy, relatively sophisticated meals and the virtual trash that Louis enjoyed._

_“Let’s call a spade a spade—-it’s small town diner food.” Harry had argued a few years back, over a bottle of wine and at least one decent meal between them._

_“It’s not trying to be something it’s not, unlike that squid ink pasta of yours.” Louis had scowled._

_Either way, Rosario’s had quickly become a favourite._

_“I just don’t understand why they always serve it with vegetables or salad.” Louis was saying as he pushed his carrots around his plate._

_He’d eaten his schnitzel and just had the chips to go but he seemed disproportionately put off by the presence of vegetables on his plate. Sometimes, Harry thought he must be allergic._

_“I don’t know why you moan and complain and beat around the bush.” Harry reached over and scooped them all up. “You know I always eat them for you.”_

_Louis smiled without looking up, sticking his fork into a chip._

_“Because I love it when you come to my rescue.”_

_Louis reached over then and grabbed all of the fried onion rings that came as a side with Harry’s warm chicken salad. He didn’t look at Harry as he did it. He hardly needed to ask for permission at this point._

_“You know, I think you need to get some more books in again.” He said with wide, puppy dog eyes, sucking a finger covered in tomato sauce into his mouth. He always looked like that when he spoke about books, slightly off focus, like the world around him had grown soft and fuzzy. As a formally rowdy teen, Louis had fallen in love with books like Harry had fallen in love with him; slowly, unwillingly, and then all at once._

_“I got some in last week.” Harry laughed, dabbing at Louis’ cheek with his napkin because he’d inevitably smeared sauce all across his face. “You can’t have read them all already.”_

_“I haven’t but I won’t. Passive, smart girl meets and falls in love with dumb boy who ends up saving the world. C’mon, how is that believable?”_

_“You know I didn’t write them, right?”_

_“No, but you ordered them. You’re helping me educate the youth and you’re fucking it up, honestly.”_

_Most people would take that badly but Harry knew Louis thought the world of him. He was only this passionate and irate about certain things and books were one of them. Besides which, he may have had a point._

_“I’m getting some queer stuff in next week. And some female centred fantasy.”_

_“Oh.” Louis’ cheeks hollowed when he smiled sometimes and it was as painful for Harry to look at as it was beautiful. “Well then, you’re off the hook. For now.”_

_Harry groaned but tangled his feet with Louis’ under the table. He’d spent many hours debating the genre of fantasy with Louis. Truthfully, he’d never tire of hearing him lose his breath to an argument, the kind that Harry might find obnoxious from anyone else. With Louis, it didn’t feel like a lecture. It felt like poetry and prose, dripping from the tongue of someone who saw the world in brighter colours than he did. Louis often spoke as though he saw the world in blackest black and brightest yellow and was moved to tears and radicalism by them both._

_When it came time for dessert, Harry ordered a slice of lemon cheesecake. Louis ordered a slice of the rich chocolate cake that they served with fresh berries and pistachio ice cream. When it came out, they both collectively sighed._

_“I love dessert.” Louis said with transparent heart eyes._

_“It is the most important meal of the day.”_

_“I think that’s breakfast.”_

_Harry sliced through his cheesecake with the spoon and brought it to his mouth, moaning at the sweet creamy taste that melted on his tongue._

_“Nope, it’s this. It’s definitely this.”_

_Halfway through, Louis set down his fork and licked his lips. They were covered in fine chocolate crumbs._

_“Okay, swap.”_

_They both slid their plates along the white table linen and Harry eagerly accepted the chocolate cake that he finished for Louis every single time. Louis was already hoeing into the cheesecake, eyes closed in apparent ecstasy._

_Harry knew they’d meander inside the local book shop on their way back to Louis’ flat, then stop to look for records in the shop Harry lovingly called his second home. Later that night, they’d make hot cocoa to enjoy in Louis’ bed with Netflix open on the laptop and sleepy cuddles inevitable. It was Harry’s perfect evening. He had Louis all to himself._

**2020: Still April, later that night**

Harry was trying not to mope too obviously. His usual MO for dealing with Louis’ missions was hanging off Louis himself or standing at the bar with his back turned, chatting to the bartender about topics that probably shouldn’t be discussed with a total stranger. Like aliens. Or religion. Or the way Louis’ butt looked in a suit.

Tonight was no different. Louis threaded his way through the crowd the moment they arrived, dragging Zayn off with him. Liam followed at a distance, because as Louis had pointed out to them many times, no one needs two wingmen, especially when they’re making out with each other. Apparently, it made Louis look like an awkward third wheel.

Niall had spotted a friend of a friend who he’d been flirting with for months and so had promptly deserted Harry too.

He tried to watch for a bit. The hunting. The flirty looks. The sway of his hips and the bounce of that gorgeous arse. But it was sort of like looking at an eclipse. He always knew it was going to be painful but a masochistic part of him had to know if he could stand to see some other guy touching the man he was in love with.

Louis shimmered beneath the lights, his sharp toothed smile catching the eye of at least six men. Harry counted. He looked sexy and punk with his feathered fringe swept sideways across his forehead, a pair of sinfully tight ripped jeans clinging to his thighs and a faded band tee with cut off sleeves. He’d tied it off around his middle so that a strip of his tan waist was visible and he kept fiddling with the hemline, drawing everyone’s eyes to that exact area.

When a built guy with a dark quiff and tattoo sleeves slid in front of Louis and blocked Harry’s view, he turned back to the bar. Time for a scotch. Double. He usually preferred something fruity, preferably with an umbrella, but tonight he was willing to break his habits to get drunk a little quicker.

“Scotch? Wow.” The bartender was a cute, blonde twink with various facial piercings, tattooed arms and glittery blue eyelids. “That’s sexy.”

Harry couldn’t help but grin back at him, reminded of Louis who was the same addictive combination of “cute but will fight.” Harry loved that the bio on his tumblr read “nerdy punk”. He loved that Louis was prone to getting in drunken arguments with people who offended his friends. He loved that Louis had a collection of denim jackets and beat up shoes and that he swore constantly, only ever apologising for it when he was around someone over the age of 65. But. He also loved the way Louis went lax when he painted his nails for him or cuddled him from behind, making him feel small. He loved that Louis enjoyed a fruity drink as much as him and wasn’t too proud to sing ABBA at the top of his lungs on karaoke nights. He was exactly like this twenty something man with his blonde curls and a sweet smile that was part sunlight, part sin.

“Is it sexy?” Harry laughed, holding up his newly poured drink. “It kind of tastes like motor oil to me.”

The twink, whose name tag read Justin, threw his head back and laughed, a bit harder than was warranted for such a lame joke. Again, he was reminded of Louis.

“You’re funny.” He patted Harry’s arm, cocking his hip.

Harry tried not to look too amused.

“Am I? My best friend says I’m lucky I’m hot.”

Harry’s face warmed as he realised what he’d just said.

“Not that—“

“No, honey, you’re gorgeous. I get it. What a lucky guy.”

Harry shook his head.

“Oh no, we’ve never—“

“Really?” Justin looked sceptical, eyes travelling over Harry’s shoulder and landing somewhere in the dark of the club. “So if I lean in right now and kiss you, he wouldn’t react? He wouldn’t want to come over here and kick my ass?”

Harry’s eyes inevitably dropped to the bartender’s mouth, which looked slightly sticky with lip gloss and much fuller than Louis’. It wasn’t what he wanted but for a moment, he considered how long it had been since he’d kissed someone. He’d never kissed anybody on one of his nights out with Louis, too busy trying to feel nothing to feel anything at all. But maybe he’d been too quick to write the rest of the world off. This guy was hot, after all. He could picture himself holding those thick blonde curls away from his face and smudging that bright highlight as he sucked Harry off in a staff toilet.

“I only ask, darling, because there’s a boy standing over there burning holes into my face, whose got cheekbones I’d like to come on. Now, if it were any other night, I might want to do just that. But,” he leaned in and dragged his finger over the cleft of Harry’s chin, “I’d kind of like to see how jealous we could make him, wouldn’t you?”

Harry didn’t think. About jealous looks. Or Louis’ cheekbones. Or future blowjobs. He just thought about a soft mouth and the way that he’d loved Louis for years with no sign that Louis felt the same. The way that he’d taken care of him and worshipped him and tested the physical limits of their friendship and Louis had always been kind and sweet and maybe even a little flirty but nothing more. Nothing that he wasn’t doing with those boys he took home from the club and ditched to have breakfast with Harry the next morning. Maybe Louis wanted him. Maybe he’d even let Harry make him come. Once or twice, if he was lucky. If he was good. But Harry wanted so much more than good sex with Louis Tomlinson.

So, he kissed Justin, mouth on mouth, with tongue, and an embarrassingly possessive grip around his jaw. And it felt acidic like vinegar and salty sweet like caramel popcorn and there was too much Justin and not enough Louis. Never enough Louis.

“Shit.” Harry pulled away, breathing heavily. “You’re good at that.” He said, because even if it didn’t solve anything for him, he knew a good kisser when he felt one.

Justin grinned, winked and then darted away to the other side of the bar to make some more drinks, swinging his ample hips. Harry wasn’t ashamed to admit he was considering taking him home, lack of Louis be damned.

Then, he felt a small hand curl around his shoulder and he turned to find Louis standing there with puffy lips, like he’d already been kissed. God, that hurt. Louis had a sour look on his face and the unexpectedness of that stopped the pain.

“Are you done? I want to go.” He turned his face away.

Was he actually jealous? Had Justin been right? Harry knew he should have felt guilty. Maybe he should have confessed to everything right then and there and risked it all but it wasn’t enough. Not yet. Still he bit down on a shit eating grin in an attempt to play it cool, curling his hand around Louis’ cheek and turning his face back towards him.

“Hey, you alright babe? You seem upset.”

Louis scoffed and directed a glare over the back of Harry’s shoulder.

“I’m not upset. I’m pissed off.”

“Oh.” Harry’s smile slipped through. Just a little. Was he about to get some honesty? “Why’s that?”

“Your little bartender is sucking your face instead of serving people and I just think it’s rude is all. Bad service. Should I report him? I think I should.”

Louis went to walk past him but Harry grabbed his shoulders, barely suppressing a snort. Honesty would be good. A confession would be better. But this twenty-seven-year-old man having a full strop over Harry kissing somebody else, whatever the reason, was entertaining. He couldn’t reconcile jealous Louis with the man who’d come out hoping to be fucked by someone else but god, he hoped like hell there was an explanation that ended with the two of them together.

“Um, I’m going to have to veto that idea. What does it matter to you? Where’s tall, dark and handsome? Thought you’d found someone to go home with?”

Louis huffed and pushed Harry in the stomach. It was weak and ineffectual but the way he crossed his arms and shifted his weight told Harry he was seriously bothered.

“Well, it’s a bit distracting, you know.”

“What?” Harry grabbed his wrists and smoothed his thumbs over them. It made Louis’ hunched up shoulders fall. “What distracted you, Lou?”

“You, over here, sucking face with that...with that—“

“That what?” Harry grinned.

“Oh, shut up!” Louis punched him in the shoulder, hard. “You’re enjoying this, ye bastard.”

“Ye bastard.” Harry mimicked, ducking his heard to avoid another one of Louis’ scarily well-placed punches.

“You’re such a twat, Harry Styles.” He said through a reluctant laugh. “My mum would have been so ticked off with you right now.”

Louis’ smile slowly faded at his own mention of Jay but Harry cupped his face, tracing his fading laugh lines.

“That was your first time mentioning her since the day she passed without talking about cancer or grief or what it’s going to be like now. You’re remembering her as she was, again. As she’ll always be.”

Louis nodded, teary eyed, and grabbed the bottom of Harry’s shirt.

“She really loved you, you know.”

“I know.” He smiled, squeezing Louis’ hands.

“I’m not...I’m not jealous.” He said. “Like, just so you know. I don’t need all your attention. You can go home with whoever. I mean, if you really want to.”

Harry laughed from deep within his chest and kissed his palm.

“Thank you, Lou. I appreciate that. But I’m actually real tired. So, if you don’t mind, I’d like to go home with you, not the bartender.”

Louis’ mouth dropped open a little and his eyelashes fluttered, like the suggestion of going home together had caught him totally off guard. Then he tugged on Harry’s shirt again.

“Can we get cheeseburger meals? And thickshakes? Oh, oh, could we watch Queer Eye?”

Harry couldn’t say no to that face. They drove through the McDonald’s drive through twenty minutes later, Louis doing a damn good impression of Ariana Grande in the passenger seat. Harry couldn’t wipe the smile off his face. Tonight wouldn’t be the night he told Louis his truth or confronted him about any possible feelings he might have for Harry. But that was okay. He was content to see Louis laughing and crying happy tears while watching Queer Eye, the grief of the last few weeks slowly beginning to ebb away.

**Roughly Four Years Ago**

_It always smelled like cumin in the light shop down the road from Louis’ flat. Harry suspected the owners had a kitchen out back. He hadn’t realised at first why every time he’d come home from there, he suddenly had a craving for curry. Perhaps he’d been distracted, each time, by his best friend sitting in a roped off section of lights with little sold stickers on them. He always looked up at them as though they were their own little solar system, guiding him in some way._

_“Hey.” Harry tried not to pant too obviously when he walked up to Louis this time. “Thought I might find you here.”_

_It was only sort of a lie. He’d forgotten, for a moment. He’d spent at least half an hour driving to Jay’s house before he realised how stupid he was being. Louis turned his head up to look at him, straight faced. His face was paler than usual and covered in faded tear tracks. He didn’t look like the shining light Harry had come to rely on in the last two years of friendship._

_“Yeah, well.”_

_Louis didn’t say anything else, just turned his head back to the lights, like a sunflower seeking sun. Harry wanted to write songs about it. About how Louis was always seeking an energy source, somehow completely unaware that everything he touched turned to gold. He sat down beside Louis, back pressed up against a boxed lamp with his fingers splayed out against the navy carpet beneath them. It felt spongy beneath his hands._

_“You’ve never told me why you come here every time I’m mad at you.”_

_He couldn’t help but marvel a little at how pretty Louis still looked with a wrinkled work shirt tucked into pale blue dad jeans and the bare feet that meant he’d chosen to walk here. The strangely formal uniform he wore to work had only become a thing in the last six months or so. Now it was all Harry could do not to slide his palm inside Louis’ open collar and feel how warm his skin would be. He’d never do anything Louis didn’t want, of course, but sometimes he felt like the only thing holding them back was Louis’ unspoken fears._

_“Oh, haven’t I?” Louis tipped his head right back, staring at the chandelier right above him. His straightened fringe was curling up at the bottom, the way it did in the mornings, and he looked so young with his pale blue tie stuffed into his pocket. He had a look on his face that reminded Harry of the way some of the school’s worst ‘delinquents’ looked at him when Harry saw through their bad behaviour and gave them a book he knew they’d like. Sometimes they sat in the library at lunch, voluntarily reading a book without a grade that depended on it. They pored over pages with the kind of interest they’d be too scared to show anywhere else, the kind of vulnerability that had gotten them nowhere around adults who took advantage. “It’s not a secret, or anything.”_

_Harry waited. It was nearing midnight on a weeknight. The owners usually shut around ten but if Louis came, they just stayed in the back and waited for Harry to come and retrieve him. It was fairly silent inside. Even London’s traffic couldn’t be heard in here. He could only hear something that vaguely sounded like Indian pop music, echoing through some tinny speakers. And that was it. He couldn’t hear the wind howling around outside or the couple walking past the storefront, hands linked._

_“There was a light shop down the road from my mum’s house in Donny.” Louis said. “I used to go there when my dad was mad at me”._

_Harry didn’t know how to feel about that. He traced Louis’ features but there was no expression. He just looked slightly dazed and tired, as if he had no more energy to give to Harry. Maybe that’s why he’d come here._

_“I remind you of your dad?”_

_A half-hearted grin broke the surface of his dazed look and he turned to meet Harry’s eyes._

_“Only when you’re angry. He looked at me the way you look at me.”_

_“How’s that?”_

_“Like I’m ridiculous. Like no matter how old I get, I’ll always be a stupid child. You know how when someone’s angry at you, it feels really claustrophobic? I mean, maybe that’s just me...”_

_“No, I...I think I know what you mean.”_

_Harry wanted to keep him talking, wanted to hear all about Louis’ past. He didn’t know enough, despite their two-year friendship. Louis knew all about the nights he’d cried himself to sleep, missing his dad, and how he’d seen a therapist while he was at university because he hadn’t felt good enough for anyone at the time. He knew Harry had gotten only average grades all through school and had no direction, only really knew he liked reading and writing sad lyrics. He knew about his first boyfriend, a Casanova named James, who was way too old for him and dropped him as soon as they’d had sex. He knew about his most recent boyfriend too, a bricklayer he’d met a few nights after he’d started at the library, who ultimately ended up cheating on him with a friend of Harry’s. Louis knew way too much while Harry often felt that he knew way too little, at least about the things that mattered._

_“Well...” Louis’ lip wobbled and he bit down on it. “I think I probably associate anger with my mum and dad fighting. He used to scream. She’d throw things. It was kind of awful, you know?”_

_“I know.”_

_He really did. Louis smiled sadly at him, then dropped his eyes down to where their hands rested, centimetres apart, pinkies almost touching. He moved his hand until his pinkie curled around Harry’s. A lump the size of a boulder settled in Harry’s throat._

_“Do I really make you feel like that?” He said. “Like a child? I didn’t mean— “_

_Louis laughed but it was sharp and disbelieving._

_“Harry, you have every right to be angry! Please don’t make this into something that it’s not.”_

_“I should never have said you were hopeless or that you weren’t capable of managing your money. It’s not what I meant.”_

_“You were right, though, weren’t you?” A tear slid down Louis’ cheek and collected in his neck. “I’m such a fuckwit about this stuff. You’ve tried to help me and all I’ve done is refuse that offer while fucking things up worse.”_

_Harry took Louis’ whole hand into his lap._

_“Please don’t talk about my best friend that way.” His voice sounded pained, even to him and Louis gave a little surprised hiccup of a laugh. “I’m not mad because you haven’t paid me back or because you need more money. I’m mad because you keep trying to do this on your own.”_

_“And I can’t, right?” Louis wouldn’t look at him, only the lights. “I’m not capable?”_

_“You are.” Harry said but then clicked his tongue. “I mean, no, that’s not right. That’s not honest. You’re capable of so many things, Lou, so many. You’re more capable than me. The amount of books you’ve read, the way you teach, the way you light up a room better than any of these...” he looked around at the unearthly glow the lamps and chandeliers provided. “I could sing your praises forever. I-I would.”_

_“Please don’t.”_

_“My point is that there are some things you can’t do. Alone. And that’s okay. That’s normal. I honestly don’t know about your dad but I wasn’t looking at you like that because I don’t have faith in you. I promise. I’m sorry if I gave you the impression that I don’t look at you every day and wonder how you achieve so much.”_

_“H, you don’t have to explain.” Louis’ toes curled down against the carpet, seeking softness. He couldn’t always cope when Harry got too sappy. “I don’t know why you always end up apologising to me when I’m the shit. It’s embarrassing, honestly.”_

_He was smiling now, just barely, but Harry wasn’t done._

_“I know that sometimes you need help and you don’t ask. You won’t. That’s why I was angry. I can give you money, fine, but if you’d just let me help you do a budget or even if you tell me before it gets this bad? Before you’re late on rent and skipping meals to pay your credit card bill. I can help you.”_

_“But—“_

_Harry squeezed his hand._

_“No buts allowed. Except the one in your trousers, which is welcome anytime.”_

_Louis’ head fell back and he laughed, openly._

_“Okay.” He said, breathing out slowly. “I’ll let you help me do a budget. On one condition.”_

_Harry’s eyebrows furrowed._

_“Yeah?”_

_“You take off your big dumb boots and run home in the rain with me.”_

_Harry looked outside, ignoring Louis’ teasing, and sure enough it had begun pelting with rain while they’d been talking. He couldn’t hear it at all, could only see the large droplets landing against the window like angry paint splatters. Leaves circled the intersection as the wind blew through them, lifting them up and giving them flight. Harry hated anything cold and wet but with Louis’ hand in his, he would do anything, could do anything._

_“Deal.”_

_They ran through the rain with Harry’s shoes over their heads and their fingers intertwined. Halfway through, Louis shouted at him that this wasn’t working. Harry didn’t respond with the reason which was that Louis was too short for him and his legs were too little to keep up. Instead Louis jumped on his back with no warning, knowing Harry would catch him. Which he did._

_Then they started running again, rain flattening their hair and soaking their clothes through. The world smelled of wet grass and the soggy insides of Harry’s best boots but he couldn’t help the smile dimpling his cheeks. Louis was giggling in his ear and kicking his side like he was a horse and it felt so good to be so in love, no matter the consequences. Loving Louis was a high he didn’t ever want to come down from._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahead of schedule! Hope it passes muster.

**Roughly Four Years Ago**

_Valentine’s Day seemed like it should be, as a rule, something they didn’t celebrate together. But neither of them had seriously dated anyone in the two years since they’d met. One of them always ended up showing up at the other’s door with a box of chocolates and a lame, handmade card. Harry’s usually started and ended with a bad joke while Louis’ featured a stick figure portrait of Harry surrounded by A LOT of glitter. Harry kept them all and proudly displayed them on the mantle across from his bed._

_“What’s this?” Harry raised an eyebrow when Louis stomped into his flat in some surprisingly preppy boots, tracking muddy footprints inside. He’d handed over a rectangular container with a blue lid that smelled suspiciously edible. Suspicious, because there weren’t many things that Louis could make edible. “Where are my dollar store chocolates? My handmade card?”_

_Louis unwrapped a fetching green scarf from around his neck. It was tucked into a fitted white t-shirt that did wonders for the curves of Louis’ biceps, straining at the ivory material._

_“I decided to do something different.” Louis said, averting his eyes. “It’s...well, you’ll see.”_

_Harry opened the container and peered inside. There was some type of chocolate slice that smelled of coconut and mint._

_“It’s just a slice. Nothing special.” Louis waved his hand around, toeing off the boots that looking very much like they’d been plucked straight from Harry’s closet. He knew they hadn’t. They were miniature. But the resemblance was uncanny. “It’s probably awful.”_

_Harry made a point of selecting one of the chocolate squares and inserting the whole thing into his mouth. He chewed, slowly, watching Louis fidget with the remote where he’d chosen to sit on the couch._

_“Okay, wow.” Harry didn’t even have to try to spare Louis’ feelings. “These are actually really good.”_

_“Oh.” The tips of Louis’ ears were red. He drew his legs up underneath him, smiling. “Cool. I wasn’t sure.”_

_“I got you something different too.” Harry told him and went to get it from the kitchen._

_He returned with a bouquet of forget-me-nots and a Neverland-themed snow globe._

_“Why do you always make me look like the shit friend?” Louis said and took both items, his_ _eyes wide with wonder. He pressed his nose into the flowers and took the time to shake the snow globe whose snow looked more like falling stars. “This is amazing. Thank you.”_

_Harry leaned down to kiss his forehead, smoothing his hair back a little where it had gone fluffy from the rain._

_“You’re welcome, babe.”_

_Louis buried his face in the flowers again, and the pale blue of them complimented the roses on his cheeks, both in fullest bloom._

_Harry joined him on the couch and lit the sea breeze candle Louis had gotten him for his birthday. Louis placed his flowers and the snow globe on the table and snuggled up against him, arm snaking around his middle. Harry inhaled his hair. It smelled of lemons, always of lemons, and iced cupcakes. Sweet-bitter. Like Louis himself._

_Louis ran his hand down the centre of Harry’s chest, covered in a mint green shirt that matched both the rings on his fingers and Louis’ own scarf._

_“Soft,” He whispered and slid his hand inside the open collar, hand resting firmly on Harry’s bare chest. He must have been able to feel the violent awakening of Harry’s heart, like the thumping of a porch swing against an old Victorian house in the middle of a storm. His eyes, however, were clear and unapologetic. “I can feel your heart. Anxious, are we?”_

_His eyebrow was quirked. A challenge. Harry grabbed his wrist but instead of wrenching him away, he slid his hand in further until it covered his entire pec._

_“Not quite.”_

_Louis’ fingers curled into his skin, clinging, and Harry stopped breathing._

_That was when Niall, Liam and Zayn came back with dinner and Louis’ hand disappeared faster than Harry could blink._

_“Hey Tommo.” Niall practically leapt across Harry’s lap to get at Louis who laughed and pushed him off like he was a boisterous puppy. He wasn’t wrong about that. “It’s been a while since I saw your ugly mug.”_

_“Yeah, well, that’s no coincidence.” Louis said. “I’ve been avoiding every_ _Irish pub in London.”_

_Niall flipped him the bird and climbed across him to the other couch._

_“Hi Lou.” Liam said. He kneeled down in front of them and began setting the Indian out on the table. “How’s work?”_

_Zayn was last to join them all, taking the seat next to Niall and reaching forward to touch the spot between Liam’s shoulder blades. This morning Harry had worn headphones to block out the sounds of their V Day romp but thankfully they’d been relatively low key ever since. It did Harry’s insides a lot of good._

_“Oh, you know,” Louis shrugged, not lifting his chin from where it dug into the bottom of Harry’s pec. “Same old, same old, really. Just deciding which books are going to make the cut this year. I thought being able to decide the English curriculum for half the school would be a step up but really it’s just a bunch more stress.”_

_“Let me guess,” Zayn took the plate offered to him by Liam, nearly overflowing with spicy butter chicken and Rogan Josh. “You’ve fallen in love with a bunch of new books over the break and you want to teach them all.”_

_Harry grinned down at Louis who elbowed him without looking._

_“Well, yeah. But it’s not my fault. There are so many great books out there and so many things I could do with them all. Haz is no help either. Everything he picked was written in the last five years.”_

_Louis shuddered like that was a crime and then sat up to accept the plate Zayn passed to him._

_“What about you, Payno? When’s your next festival date?”_

_Liam worked as a dish pig in a local restaurant but everyone knew his real love was DJ’ing. The dish pig thing was a necessary side gig but unlike the gallery that Zayn worked at, it wasn’t remotely related to his true love of music._

_“Not for a month.” Zayn answered for him which made Liam smile. It might have seemed irritating to anyone else but it worked for them. They each took the reins in their own way. “He’s got a great track ready for it, though. C’mon, babe, play it for them.”_

_For hours after that, they bitched and laughed and teased each other over garlic naans and the crisps Louis had bullied him into buying. Then Louis fell asleep curled up against him and the conversation swept by without Harry, like a lullaby he didn’t need to hear to absorb._

_“You could just look at him all day, couldn’t you?” Niall was incredulous but Harry smiled, squeezing Louis’ shoulder._

_“I really could.”_

_“It’s disgusting how in love you are and how little you’re willing to do about it.” Zayn shook his head, rubbing his hand up and down Liam’s thigh, a little too vigorously for Harry’s liking. “One day he won’t be yours anymore and what will you have then?”_

_Harry let his head fall down against Louis’ and closed his eyes, a close-lipped smile spreading like wildfire across the ivory plains of his cheeks._

_“The memories.”_

**2020: May**

Death shouldn’t be the only constant in the world. It shouldn’t be so greedy. It shouldn’t be like a cousin, visiting from out of town, in need of only money and never true companionship. It shouldn’t come in twos or threes. It shouldn’t sneak up, without warning, or move slowly, without mercy. It shouldn’t linger in your dreams long after it’s left town or be written across Louis’ expression as he walked down the long hallway at the hospital where they’d taken Robin.

“I asked you to see if he was awake,” Harry didn’t know why he was angry but he was, “not, not—-“

“Harry. Harry, sit down.” Louis was talking to him in that tone he usually reserved for students caught up in lunchtime fights. “Just take a second to breathe, will you?”

“What happened? Why are you—. He was...he was sleeping. Just sleeping. Where’s mum? Is she still in there with him?” Harry tried to walk past Louis but Louis grabbed his hips and pushed him back. “I have to go get her.”

Louis’ face was so expressionless as he pushed Harry down into a chair and knelt down right in front of him. Harry buried his head in his hands, rubbing furiously at his eyes.

“Just tell me.”

“He died twenty minutes ago. He had a second heart attack.” Louis said, softly. “Your mum just wanted some time with him before she came and told you. I offered.”

Harry put his head between his knees and wept. His heartbeat was loud in his ears and he could hear nothing over it. He tasted the salt of his tears and felt the hard pressure of a hand on his shoulder but he couldn’t catch his breath.

Half an hour ago, the smell of coffee from the canteen had lifted his spirits. As he crushed the empty foam cup in his hand, he wondered how anything so insignificant could have drawn him away. He’d told his mum to wait to speak to him, to let Robin wake up naturally. If he’d just let her talk to him like she wanted, maybe they would have had the chance to say an actual goodbye.

“This isn’t your fault, you hear me?” Louis said it, right on cue, as if he knew. He had his hand wrapped around Harry’s neck and he was forcing Harry to look at him. “I felt exactly the same when mum passed. Like I could have done something better. Something more. But there wasn’t a thing I would change now.”

“But you got to spend months with her,” Harry pulled his head away, hot tears sluicing his cheeks. He wiped at them angrily. “You got to say goodbye. How is that fair?”

He was an asshole when he was sad. Louis grabbed his knees.

“None of this is fair, Harry. You don’t want to watch someone die.” His face was tense. It occurred to Harry that he hadn’t looked at peace since the moment he stepped into the hospital. After all, it hadn’t been that long since he was in Harry’s position. In fact, it was only last week that Harry had caught him listening to Jay’s favourite song on repeat, tears melting sideways onto his pillow. “Trust me.”

“I just wish—“

“I know.” He said. “We all do. I wish I didn’t have to hear my mum’s voice through her answering machine. But you can do this, for her and for Gems because they need you. Not today. Not now. But you’ll be there for them, like I was for the girls and it will help you.”

“How do you do it?” Harry’s shoulders shook. He closed his eyes and he could hear it now, the sounds of the people in the rooms around them talking to their families, talking about going home. “Any of it? I’m not as strong as you.”

Louis snorted and then brought their heads together. Harry could almost taste the mint on his breath. He could feel the smooth planes of their noses touching and on any other day, the slight bow of Louis’ lips might prove too tempting a visual.

“You are far, far stronger than me, Harry Styles. You’ve been carrying our friendship since day one. Always bearing my burdens.”

It wasn’t true. Harry could have easily argued it if he wasn’t so thoroughly wrapped up in his grief. Louis had helped him in so many innumerable ways, had helped him with the tinkling sound of his laugh or the pleasant glow he gave you when he was teasing. Louis had gone on runs he didn’t want to go on and attended black and white movies when he’d rather be at home reading. He was a good friend, the best actually, and Harry was going to need him now more than he ever had.

“Promise me you’ll stay with me tonight.” Harry said, sucking in breaths. He forgot how hard it was to breathe through sadness. Like breathing underwater.

“I promise.” Louis hugged him close. “We’ll get Chinese and watch that awful series you keep trying to make me watch with you.”

Harry couldn’t smile or laugh but he rubbed Louis’ back, sinking into him the way he sometimes sank into his bed after a long day spent re-shelving. It was only later that night, just as he was about to fall asleep, that he remembered how much Louis hated being in hospitals. It broke his heart and strengthened it just as much to realise that Louis would go anywhere, do anything, if Harry needed him. Harry needed to be that kind of strong for his family now. 

Gems called him the next morning, in pieces. She’d been doing some charity work in a remote village and hadn’t been contactable for weeks. It had all happened so fast. There had been no time to contact the friend of a friend of a friend who had organised the trip for her and get her on a flight back to London. Still, Harry felt awful for her. Nothing could be worse than being thousands of miles away learning the worst news of your life.

When they got off the phone, with Louis’ strength in mind, Harry did what he needed to do. He booked the next flight to London for Gemma and sent her the details so she wouldn’t have to worry about organising it in the midst of processing the news. Then he called Robin’s remaining family, who were barely in contact with him but needed to know what had happened. Finally, he organised a meal service for the next three months for his mum, who he knew would try to operate as if everything was normal and would combust from the stress of pretending.

Louis let himself into the flat at ten past eleven, when all the boys were at work and in fact, Louis should have been too.

“You’re here.” Harry’s smile felt detached from his soul. His voice was weak. “You don’t have to be. I’m okay. It’s not like he was my dad or something. It’s not like what you’ve been through.”

“Don’t.” Louis walked across the flat to where he sat on the couch, white knuckling a photo from his mum’s wedding to Robin. It was one of the happiest days of both their lives but it was the same for Harry and Gemma who had adored Robin from the very beginning. “Don’t do that. Don’t compare. Robin was so important to you. You loved him. I’ll never forget how happy you were on your mum’s wedding day. I think that was the first time I realised how dependent your happiness is on the happiness of those you love. I loved you even more for it.”

Harry smiled at that and it almost felt real. He ran his thumb across the picture, taken on a much brighter day than this one, with two of the people he loved most in the world beaming back at him.

“I don’t think I’ll ever forget it either. That was the first time I felt I was in the presence of true love.”

It was also one of his sweetest memories of Louis, particularly early on in their friendship when neither of them had been sure which boundaries they should cross.

**Roughly Five Years Ago**

“ _Oh hey, I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”_

_Harry had invited Louis to his mum’s wedding but Louis had claimed it would be weird since they’d only known each other a year. That hadn’t stopped Perrie, the dance and drama teacher who they were both obsessed with (“well who wouldn’t want Pez dancing at their wedding? She’s fabulous”, or Zayn, Liam’s new boyfriend, whose fashion sense was unrivalled, “having Zayn at your wedding is like having a celebrity”._

_But now here was Louis in tight black slacks and a pale pink shirt that looked lovely with the tone of his skin. Harry couldn’t even remember what Zayn, the faux celebrity, was wearing. Louis had aviators on, blocking out the sun, but he pulled them off and tucked them into his pocket as soon as Harry greeted him._

_“Yeah, sorry.” Louis stuffed his hands in his pockets and tilted his body in the direction of the park exit, like he wanted to go. His gaze followed the line of huge flower pots Harry had set up to mark the borders of the reception area._

_His mum had been thrilled when they’d found a place to have the reception that fit all her criteria which was: 1) outside 2) close to Holmes Chapel and 3) not a farm. They’d gotten lucky with the weather and so far, the big white marquees they’d set up had only been useful for blocking out the bright sun which lit up the expanse of green they’d chosen._

_It had been a beautiful ceremony, lit by the scant amount of light that filtered through the stained-glass windows at the church Robin had chosen. Harry was Robin’s best man and when he saw his new step-father tearing up at the sight of his beautiful mum, his own eyes had watered like crazy. A lifetime of happiness was what they both deserved._

_“Should I go?” Louis’ eyebrows tented towards each other._

_“No, Lou.” Harry laughed, unfairly pleased with how nervous Louis looked. No one should look that gorgeous and be totally confident all the time. He advanced on his friend; arms wide. “Get over here.”_

_Louis smiled and closed the distance between them, manoeuvring his chin into that one place on Harry’s shoulder that it seemed to fit so perfectly._

_“Sorry, I’m late. Is your mum around? Want to tell her congratulations.”_

_“She’s in the loo.” Harry pulled back. He picked up a paper plate from the nearest table which was decorated with white linen and pink roses. “Want a quiche?”_

_He held it up to Louis, expecting him to grab the quiche himself, but instead he leaned forward and took a gentle bite right out of Harry’s hand. As he pulled back, he must have seen the look of surprise on Harry’s face as he blushed bright crimson._

_“Whoops,” he murmured, chewing slowly._

_Harry laughed but it was awkward and off balanced._

_“Whoops,” he agreed._

_They were quiet for a second, Louis looking around the park with a quiet smile on his face, as if it was exactly how he thought it would be. There were photo booths, a buffet and a single musician with an acoustic guitar playing his mum’s favourite love songs. That had been Louis’ suggestion._

_“Can I ask...what changed your mind?” Harry ventured._

_It had been mere months since he realised his feelings for Louis had morphed from admiration and attraction to something deeper. But ever since then, it had been increasingly harder to judge how Louis felt about him, in return. The way he was looking at Harry now, eyes latching on to the necklace that swung between his swallow tattoos, made him think there was something there. Maybe this could work. But he needed a sign from Louis. He needed him to make the first move._

_“Oh, I um, I missed you too much, didn’t I?” Louis said with a smile. Harry said nothing, breathless, and Louis tensed up, all wrinkled nose and squinted eyes. “That was a weird thing to say, wasn’t it? It’s only been six days.”_

_“Seven.” Harry corrected. He’d been counting. Louis sucked in a sharp breath. “And no, not at all. I missed you too. Plus mum—“_

_“Oh, yeah, and your mum. Wanted to see her too of course.” Louis’ nose was still wrinkled. His body was turned towards the exit again._

_“Of course.” Harry said with a smile in his voice._

_Louis stepped close again and looked up at him, reaching up to touch the edge of his wide brimmed fedora._

_“Bet you cried, lots.” He said._

_“I did. Robin is perfect for her.” He was getting choked up again._

_“Alright sad sack. Let’s go find the bride, shall we?”_

_He held out his hand and Harry elbowed him before accepting the hand offered._

_“If we must. Her friends keep talking about her wedding night whenever I’m there and mum just goes along with it. She says she’s trying to be a sex positive parent.”_

_“Good for her.” Louis laughed, swinging their hands. “May she get railed by the man of her dreams until the wee hours of the morning.”_

_“Stop.” Harry groaned. “I’m begging you. Please don’t use the word railed in connection with my mum.”_

_Louis laughed his head off, just as beautiful as the bride who had swept into the park an hour earlier, resplendent in a bright blue dress she’d chosen for the reception. Robin hadn’t been able to tear his eyes away from her, even as his brothers teased him for it, and Harry rather empathised with him now._

*

_The music was 90’s. The dance floor was crowded. It was Christmas Eve Eve and Louis was grinding against him, wearing a see-through shirt and jeans that made Harry want to dry hump._

_Harry could still taste the many pitchers of margaritas they’d shared at the Mexican place they came from. But he could also smell Lemon in Louis’ hair and the spicy-sweet smell of sweat on his neck. Harry wanted so badly to push his floppy hair aside and kiss the back of it._

_Louis decided to turn around at that moment and drag him off the dance floor. His face was flushed, his fringe was stuck down to his forehead with sweat and Harry was still transfixed. Louis elbowed his way through the other people around them, flashing smiles at the boys he’d slept with and flirty looks at the ones he still wanted to. And all Harry could think about was the green hoodie Louis had stolen from him last week and how this feeling in his chest was nothing but emerald. No one should ever look at Louis like that, like they wanted to devour him the way Harry did._

_“Got a lot of options, haven’t you?”_

_Harry whispered in his ear as they broke through the masses and out into the open air. The breeze felt good on his overheated skin but when Louis turned around to look at him, he felt hot and bothered all over again. He was mad and it shouldn’t have turned Harry on but Louis had similar stars in his eyes whether he was happy or angry. When he was angry, his cheekbones stuck out like warning signs: do not come any closer._

_“You’re not judging me for who I sleep with, right?” Louis said, pulling a cigarette and a black lighter from the tight confines of his jeans pocket. He wrapped his lips around the end and lit it like a movie star in a 90’s rom com. He was all skinny wrists, sharp blue eyes and effortless cool. “Cause that’d be the last fucking thing I’d wanna do if I were you.”_

_Harry could kick himself. He’d known Louis a year and already he felt he had some kind of moronic claim over his future. He kept talking, anyway, like an idiot._

_“I’m not allowed to notice? You ever think about slowing down the parade of guys and actually finding one who gives a crap about you?”_

_“Fuck off, Harry.” Louis flicked some ash away and looked out at the mess of traffic that had come to a complete standstill in front of them. He held his body rigidly, his arms tucked in against his chest. “You’re not my therapist.”_

_Harry really needed to learn to keep his mouth shut when he was feeling possessive over somebody that didn’t belong to him._

_“You’re right.” Harry approached, hands up. “C’mon, give me a drag and then we’ll go. Those traffic lights kind of look like one big blur to me right now.”_

_Louis passed him the cigarette, laughing, and then watched with a quiet expression as Harry inhaled. Harry dropped the cigarette and Louis ground it out with his foot._

_“Call a taxi. I’ll be back.”_

_Fifteen minutes later, he returned with puffy lips and a crease in his shirt._

_“Fun?” Harry said with a smile. Forced, because it had to be._

_“Yeah.” He seemed drunker than before, somehow, leaning on Harry as he climbed into the back seat of the taxi. “Was.”_

_Once in, Louis slumped into him even further, nuzzling his shoulder. Harry felt his hot breath on his neck and turned to press his finger to the corner of Louis’ sweet mouth. God, why did he feel so drunk?_

_“You have a kiss right here.” He said and then felt like an idiot. He didn’t know if he was talking about the one a stranger had just given him or the one that Harry wanted to give him right now._

_But Louis just tipped his head up at him and smiled, all slant eyed._

_“I’m going to give it to you. One day.”_

_Harry’s nerves were jangled enough by the alcohol. He didn’t need Louis’ sweetness soothing his jealousy like aloe vera on a burn._

_“It belongs to you.” Louis clarified, a moment later, as if he hadn’t tortured Harry enough. “All of them do.”_

_“All of your kisses?” Harry was breathless and very drunk and the stars flashing past the window looked like the tapestry of lights Harry saw behind his eyelids when he thought of Louis’s smile._

_Louis had fallen asleep moments later, slumped against his neck, drooling at an impressive rate. Harry wrapped an arm around him and sang Taylor Swift’s You Belong with Me underneath his breath._

**2020**

**June**

There was something magical about the way Louis spoke about books and language and storytelling. Harry had meandered down to his classroom in the middle of a class with the excuse of wanting to borrow some markers. In truth, he just wanted to see Louis in his element. From time to time, he needed it...kind of like how Louis needed the occasional nicotine fix in stressful situations. Maybe it wasn’t good for him. Maybe he should invest the time he spent admiring Louis in reading or learning a new language or you know, like actually doing his job, but there was something about the quietness in Louis’ expression that was so very absent at every other juncture. It moved him.

Harry stood just outside the ajar door, holding his elbows as he watched Louis walk down the corridor of space between two rows of desks. Louis never liked to teach sitting down, not simply because of the internal motor that constantly spun within him but because he liked to connect with the students from different vantage points. He believed that if he could bend down to hear a shy student better or distance himself from someone who didn’t feel comfortable with him yet, he could establish a sense of trust that fostered deeper learning.

Louis was more than a teacher to his students; he was their confidant. Harry had heard many a story from Louis about the lives of the students who wandered into his library, foolishly hoping to have a cheeky snog behind the stacks without being caught. It was Harry who caught them but it was Louis who knew who was dating who and which of the school’s teenagers needed the most help to stay on track.

“What do you think the author is trying to say with this collection of poems about queer romance?” Louis said, flicking through a dark novel with white cursive on the front. It was battered and dog eared like all of Louis’ books were, with notes and doodles littering the pages. Harry had flipped through this exact book a few nights before and smiled dopily at the list of baby names on the back cover.

A young girl with thick ebony braids raised her hand.

“Anna.”

“I think he’s trying to display both the complexity and the normality of queer relationships. He speaks about the unique struggles queer people face but also the ways in which they deal with them which are the same ways we all deal with conflict.”

“Humanisation of the vulnerable.” Louis nodded, drumming his fingers on the outside of the book. “What do we understand about life and about his interpretation of it from the character of Christopher? Well,” he said, about to answer his own question, “he’s talking about a man whose gentleness and genderless beauty is attractive to the men in his queer community. Yet, it’s these exact qualities that alienate him from the people outside of it. This is a man whose brightness cannot be dimmed by society’s collective rejection but who must function in a world that demands some level of subservience to the status quo.”

"And Patrick?" one of the students asked, looking up at Louis with wide eyes, her pen poised to write. "What does he represent?"

"Well," Louis started to walk back towards Harry but he still hadn't looked up, tracing his own small footsteps on the worn green carpet. “It depends. Some scholars have claimed that Patrick is a father figure to Christopher. The eight-year age gap and the way in which he guides Christopher through life as a queer man lends credence to this theory. I, on the other hand, feel that the way Patrick tends to Christopher, always one step behind him, always sensitive to his needs, has all the tenderness of a lover. A soulmate.”

It was at that moment Louis looked up and spotted Harry peering through the window. He startled slightly. Then, he quietly advised his students to read over the tenth poem while he stepped outside.

"Hey." Louis closed the door behind him as he stepped out. "What can I do for you, H? Were you eavesdropping again?"

Harry held up an empty packet of markers that he'd pitifully emptied out into his work bag just ten minutes ago.

"No. People have been stealing my markers again. Bastards."

Louis snorted. His eyes were suspiciously twinkly as if he may have suspected otherwise but he pulled a marker from the fanny pack on his waist. Harry had laughed at him when he started wearing one but then he found out Louis kept his asthma puffer in there, as well as some allergy safe sweets to hand out to his best students. After that, he’d only ribbed him half-heartedly and without any real intent behind it.

"You look tired." Louis observed, frowning. “Is that couple in your building still fucking at all hours?"

"It's not that..." Harry sighed, avoiding eye contact but Louis slid a hand into his curls and tugged his head up.

"Hey. Don't avoid. If something's happened and you need someone to talk to, I can help you find someone. I know this year has been so tough on both of us and you do so much for me and—"

"I've got um, blue balls,” he mumbled, interrupting him.

Louis stopped speaking immediately, staring at Harry like he’d grown another head. There was a pregnant pause.

“Oh.” He giggled, loudly, and then promptly tripped over absolutely nothing. Harry grabbed his arms to stop him smacking into the locker behind him. “Thanks. You mean like—you’re feeling um? Well. Okay.”

Why was Louis acting so strange? This wasn’t the first time one of them had brought up sex. Although when he came to think about it, they were usually talking about Louis’ sex life or one of their friends, not Harry’s. The way Louis eyes kept surreptitiously flickering down to the bulge in his jeans was...interesting.

“I haven’t had sex in a while. A long while. I just...I need to get off.” Harry’s voice was rough, and with a start he realised he was still holding Louis’ arms. His thumbs were pressed into Louis’ soft skin, right at the point where his wiry frame gave way to the bulging muscle of his biceps. Harry’s cock realised this as the same time as his brain and he instantly relaxed his grip.

They really shouldn’t be having this kind of conversation outside a classroom of nosy, sex driven teenagers but Louis was staring at him intensely and seemed perfectly content to break this down right here.

“You don’t, um,” he bit his bottom lip which did stupid things to Harry’s nether regions, “you don’t touch yourself?”

The way Louis said “touch yourself” would be echoing in Harry’s head for years to come, he was sure. Louis was quiet and breathy and yet seemed a little more unsure of himself than he did when he talked about his own sex life.

“I do. I do.” Harry found himself rambling. “Lately, I just find myself wanting more. I want to be with a person. But not just anybody. Someone I care about. And that’s not easy to find. I mean, if I could just feel that...that connection to the person on the screen when I’m looking at porn. If I could just know that the person I’m fantasising about is real and flawed and, and....”

And you, Harry thought, simultaneously berating himself for his own pathetic crush.

“I should probably go back now.” Louis was wide-eyed, flushed and jumpy as he backed into the door. “But ah, we’ll talk later, yeah?”

Harry laughed, off key, his eyes travelling over Louis’ reddened face.

“Um, sure? You okay, Lou?”

“Fine.” He squeaked. “Bye Haz. Enjoy fucking.”

He froze with his hand on the door handle, eyes wide.

“Marking! I meant marking! With the marker!” He acted out a writing motion, as if it wasn’t clear and then squeezed his eyes shut and swore under his breath. “Bye.”

He slipped back into the classroom, shutting the door firmly behind him. Harry scrubbed his hands over his face. What the hell just happened?

**Roughly Five Years Ago**

_Sometimes there was something terribly frightening about Louis when Harry said something particularly horrible to him. Or maybe frightening wasn’t the right word. It was just sad, how much he accepted from Harry when it aligned with his own skewed beliefs about himself. It was like it stoked the flames inside him that burned whenever Harry was too nice. Equally, he could be fiery-tongued when the right occasion presented itself; when Harry’s meanness triggered some instinctive self defense. But that acceptance of an insult was never done away with, as it might have been by someone more confident._

_“You know you don’t have to wear see through shirts and painted on jeans to get some attention. If you need someone to lay you out and fuck you, just ask them.”_

_Harry didn’t know what he meant when he said it. It might have been a compliment. It might have been a bitterly jealous projection, fuelled by lack of sleep and a whiskey he hadn’t even enjoyed. It might have been both. Either way it was so out of line and if Louis were not feeling out of sorts with himself, he never would have let it pass. But the last week or so had been one of those which Harry had come to expect when Louis’ dad was visiting. Louis’ outer layer of protection fell away to reveal a soft caramel centre. He yielded far too easily._

_Louis unbuttoned his jeans right there in front of his wardrobe mirror while Harry lay on the bed, trying not to watch. It had only been one year of friendship and sometimes Harry felt he was already so close to fucking it up. He’d never been this person before, the type to accuse someone of attention seeking just because he was jealous but Louis drove him made sometimes. Right from the beginning, the connection between them had been overly familiar and strangely intense. It burned beneath his skin._

_“You’re right.” Louis told him, which was bollocks. “Look like I’m asking for it, don’t I?”_

_The sad part was that Louis wasn’t being sarcastic or sharp. He was soft spoken and calm as he pulled off his shirt too._

_“Asking for what?” Harry said, but he knew._

_Louis didn’t answer. He just stood there in his pants, staring at his half naked body like it had nothing to offer him._

_“You looked beautiful.” Harry said, truthfully. It didn’t matter that Louis wasn’t going home with him. It wasn’t up to him to tell Louis what to do or how to dress. He never wanted to be that guy. “Fuck what I said. Honestly. I’m a tit. I’m just jealous that you have better thighs than I do.”_

_Louis giggled, with his fingers tucked up against his ribs. His frame was so small and delicate but every part of him was soft and supple to the touch._

_“That is not true.”_

“ _Either way, you need to put that stuff back on.” Harry said, fighting the out of place erection that wanted to make an appearance. Louis’ pants were tight, white briefs that hid very little. “Because it makes you look very fuckable and that’s the aim, right?”_

_Louis sighed and then pulled his jeans back on. He stood with them unbuttoned and falling off his hip bones, peeling down to reveal the indents of his V lines. His hair was fuzzy from the static on his shirt and he’d just started to reap the benefits of his weight training at the gym. It wasn’t fair how gorgeous he looked._

_“So, you’d fuck me if I was wearing that?” Louis locked eyes with him in the mirror and raised a brow. Harry noticed his nipples were hard and had to wonder if he was cold or turned on._

_“I mean...” Harry chewed on the words a little before spitting them out, “...yeah. I guess.”_

_He tried to play it off but Louis smirked at him like he wasn’t buying it. Harry didn’t blame him. In the last few months, he’d done little to conceal the fact that he thought Louis fit with a capital F._

**Roughly Six Years Ago (Or, A Year Before That ^)**

_When he met Louis, he hadn’t been into him. In fact, he’d straight up told Gemma that his new friend was not someone he imagined wanting to get naked with in this lifetime. They’d been at their favourite coffee place, sharing a croissant, and dissecting his new job and her new boyfriend. Harry had laughed raucously when she suggested he ask Louis out._

_“You’re not serious?” He’d said, tearing a strip of buttery croissant away. “You saw my last three boyfriends, right? Tall, bulky and into sexy hobbies like cycling or CrossFit.”_

_“Harry, CrossFit is not sexy. It’s annoying. People who do CrossFit never shut up about how much CrossFit they do. Or how much they like avocados.” Gemma raised her eyebrows at him and okay, maybe she had a point. She didn’t have to knock avocados, though. “And c’mon, don’t be that way. I cannot have a little brother who is that kind of gay.”_

_“What kind?” He frowned at her. He’d always been active in his community, he thought, and he’d mentored plenty of confused queer kids when he worked in an outreach program through his university._

_“The kind who only wants to date guys who aren’t the least bit feminine or soft or ‘twinky.’ The kind of guy who shudders at the thought of eyeshadow and women’s clothing.” Harry quirked an eyebrow at that and looked down at his bright pink shirt with shiny, silver buttons. “I mean...look, I know you’re not into that toxic masculinity shit. I know you like to paint your nails and wear whatever suits your mood. But don’t you think it’s closed minded if you won’t date someone who does the same?”_

_“Look, it’s not that he’s overly feminine. And it’s not that I’d have a problem with it if he was, let me be clear,” he amended, when Gemma flashed him a look. “It’s just that I’ve never been attracted to someone like him before. He’s all...academic and even more sensitive than me, somehow, and he eats junk food like he’s competing for a title or something. It’s just...”_

_He sighed and Gemma put down her mug, waiting._

_“It’s just I’ve always been the soft one. The pretty one. The little spoon. The one that people call baby. And I know I don’t have to change but like...what if he does change me? Because he is soft. And he is pretty. And sometimes, I can see how perfectly he’d fit in my arms.”_

_“God, Haz.” Gemma shook her head. It drew his eyes to her hair which was currently deep red and contrasted nicely with the dark of her coat. “I’m not telling you to go marry the guy. I’m just telling you to keep an open mind. Maybe ask him out. Like you said, you don’t have to be a stereotype of a manly man just because he’s sometimes the opposite. And if he does make you want to be the kind of guy that calls someone baby, so fucking what? The way you are in a relationship and the way that you love someone is flexible, just like your sexuality, or your gender, or your personality.”_

_“Point taken.” Harry finally agreed, impressed with how much she had to say on the topic. “But I just don’t see myself getting naked with the guy. Not now. Not ever. Not in this lifetime. He’s cute. He’s funny. He’s smart. But I’m just not into him like that, relationship roles be damned.”_

_Fast forward two months later and he was trapped in a bathroom cubicle at a club, getting himself off, to relieve the constant hard on he’d had since Louis walked into his flat in a see-through shirt and jeggings. Fuck tall, bulky boys with jobs in construction and cupboards full of protein powder. He wanted Louis. On his hands and knees. Lying in the circle of Harry’s arms. Riding him reverse cowgirl._

_He fucking hated when Gemma was right._

**2020**

**Still June - Later that night**

Harry had just sat down to eat with the boys when his phone buzzed. It was eight o’clock, a little later than they usually ate, but Harry had been too busy reading the next set of books that Louis had recommended to him to remember it was his turn to cook. He definitely wasn’t thinking about the look on Louis’ face when he confessed to having blue balls.

Despite the delay, he was quite happy with the spread he’d prepared. It included homemade pasta, garlic bread and a warm vegetable salad. It seemed the boys were quite happy too, judging by the way they were scarfing it down in complete silence.

“Who’s that?” Zayn said through a mouthful of pasta. “Lou?”

“Probably.” Harry was casual, pulling his phone out to check. He was not prepared for the image that confronted him when he clicked on Louis’ name.

It had clearly been taken with a selfie stick from a higher vantage point in Louis’ room. His dark grey sheets were lit only dimly by what may have been candlelight. Louis lay face down atop his sheets in nothing but a pair of blue panties, cut high enough that Harry could see way more than he’d ever seen of Louis. And the weight of that revelation took his breath away.

He was looking at miles of gloriously tan skin which looked especially smooth and shiny, as if Louis had shaved and moisturised everywhere just for this. He’d tucked his feet beneath his bum, presenting it for the picture and he’d buried his face in his own shoulder so that only the shape of his mouth was visible. And. He was biting his lip. Like a vixen. Like a terribly shy vixen who didn’t know how much that small simple action would affect Harry.

Harry was instantly hard. He gripped the table in front of him, imagining that he was probably leaving some sort of indentation, and fought the desire to leave dinner just to jerk off. But god, what if this was a mistake? Why would Louis send him this? Was he really okay with Harry seeing him so vulnerable, so raw and submissive? He wanted to laugh at the thought that he’d ever said he wouldn’t care to get naked with Louis, that he couldn’t be attracted to anyone so small and shapely. Because god. He wanted to spread Louis open on his tongue and just worship him for hours.

He couldn’t leave the table, could he? Niall was giving him a weird look as his hand drifted below the table to adjust his growing bulge. It was dangerous, touching himself at all in this state. He’d have to resist. He would. At least until he talked to Louis. Wow. What a conversation to have with the man of his dreams. Hey Louis, did you mean to get me hard or was there a mix up between me and Hayden? Harrison? Harley?

He picked up his fork and began re-twirling pasta when his phone buzzed again.

_Crap._

He shakily wiped his hands off on his napkin and pulled it out.... his phone, not his cock, though it was a close thing. Both felt like loaded guns.

_Hope this helps with your situation. Cause you know me? And I’m real. And definitely flawed. And I’ll never forget what you did for me after I met you. But if you don’t like it or it doesn’t make you feel anything, just delete it and we’ll pretend this never happened. In fact, let’s just pretend either way. Okay. Sorry x_

Harry couldn’t think about what happened shortly after they met. In fact, he hadn’t thought about it since then. He hadn’t allowed himself to. It was something he did for Louis because he could, because he needed to in that moment but he never allowed himself to go back there. And neither of them had spoken about it or the conversation that preceded it since. Louis had been broken after they spoke and Harry knew the next day that they would never speak of it again, unless Louis decided he was ready to do so.

Harry banished the thought.

Louis was nervous. Vulnerable. He wanted to help so much that he was willing to do this for Harry. Make him come. It was a dream come true and yet it was torture to think he couldn’t have the real thing, to think he couldn’t have his heart as well as his body. He spontaneously went to slam his fist into the table but he missed. Spectacularly. He watched in horror as his bowl went flying and marinara sauce spattered all over the wall of their rented flat.

“Fuck!”

“Harry, what the hell?” Zayn grumbled, continuing to eat.

Liam immediately scrambled up and out of his chair and went to fetch cleaning supplies. Niall continued peering at him from the other side of the table with increasingly narrow eyes.

“What, Niall?” Harry finally snapped, pinching a spaghetti noodle between his two fingers and placing it back in his bowl.

“Nothing. You just look like you saw your mother naked, is all.”

Harry’s erection flagged.

“Not quite.” He glared. “Heathen.”

It was another half hour after that before he finally managed to finish cleaning up and sneak off to his room. He was finally alone with that picture of Louis, that incredible picture. God, he could see the faintest shadow between Louis’ cheeks where his hole would be, where it would inevitably clench in that position, begging to be filled.

Harry undid his jeans and gripped himself firmly, choking back a groan. He pictured Louis on all fours, the way he was in the picture, feet tucked beneath him as Harry fucked into him hard and fast. He imagined his own pale thighs smacking against Louis’ brown skin and the way that he might whimper, beautifully, and fist his small hands in the sheets.

He was so fucking hot, such good fantasy material, and Harry nearly wept with relief when he finally came, fisting his cock roughly. Louis’ name was on his lips and splatters of his own come shot all the way up his chest. Without thinking, he snapped a picture of it and sent it to Louis.

_Mission accomplished. You almost killed me._

He dreaded to think about the conversation they might have the next time they saw each other.

*

**2020:**

**July**

“Do you ever think about us doing this?”

“What, getting married?”

“Yeah.” Louis’ expressed glitched. “I mean, no. Not us... _together_. You getting married. Me getting married. Dancing at each other’s weddings.”

Harry’s throat was dry when he answered and it felt like he was answering something different.

“All the time.”

The breeze ruffled Louis’ hair as he smiled at Harry, unexpectedly coy. His eyes creased up at the sides and he looked every bit like the model he’d almost ended up becoming after he failed a class at university and had convinced himself he wouldn’t be a good enough teacher.

They were at Perrie’s wedding, swaying beneath a particularly low hanging branch in the middle of the gardens Perrie had chosen for her reception. The sky was persimmon where the last flares of sunlight on the horizon met the edges of the gardens. Yet directly above, they were met with violet and deep indigo, stretching up into the heavens. Stars blinked on like fireflies and the lanterns around them glowed white.

The whole event was picturesque and Harry could only bask in the joy of holding Louis’ hand to his chest and dancing with him to Shania Twain. In this moment, it didn’t matter that he hadn’t had the courage to speak about the orgasm Louis gave him. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t tell Louis just how much he adored him in a suit or how much he’d adore him out of one. There was this moment and that was all he needed.

“I think you’d look good in a proper tux. Bow tie.” Louis said. His features darkened momentarily, as if he were pained. “You wouldn’t...you wouldn’t wear like a plain white shirt, would you?”

“You wouldn’t like that?” Harry squeezed the hand on his chest and it felt too much like they were talking about their own wedding.

“I mean, it doesn’t matter what I’d like. I’m not the one marrying you...right?” Louis looked up at him through long, spiky eyelashes. He was wearing light green, glittery eyeshadow that matched the colour of his tie and his carefully arranged quiff had fallen loose, the way Harry liked it.

He seemed to be studying Harry, chin tilted back so far that Harry could glimpse that soft spot beneath his jaw, which always smelled of aftershave and toothpaste.

“Right.” Harry’s voice was gruff as he swayed Louis to and fro. “Course. I’d wear something bright. Not too bright. I’d want it to match the flowers.”

Louis smiled and nodded like he thought as much but it was wooden. As if someone had smudged the glitter on his fingernails, dulling his shine.

“Have I mentioned how breathtaking you look tonight?” Harry said. “I mean, wow. Look out best man.”

The best man had been less than subtle in his appreciation of Louis throughout dinner. Louis had seemed unusually ambivalent, playing with Harry’s tie and tucking his face into Harry’s neck whenever the man tried to catch his eye.

Harry’s voice came out rougher and less joyful than he’d meant it. The thought of anyone taking Louis out of his arms was devastating.

Louis looked starry eyed as he reached up and cradled Harry’s face.

“You don’t look so bad yourself.” He said. “I like this.”

He ran his thumb over the smattering of dark stubble that Harry had finally managed to grow on his cheeks. It only took him ten years. But god was it worth it to feel Louis run his finger over it, lips parted.

Harry pulled him closer then, so close they couldn’t see each other’s expressions but close enough to feel Louis’ breath, his warmth.

“Promise me you’ll dance with me at your wedding.” Louis said, face nuzzling into Harry’s shoulder. He sounded off again. “And not just to some lame upbeat song. I want a slow dance. Right at the end. Just like this.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know.” Louis clung to him. “Just promise me.”

“I promise.” Harry kissed his hair. “I promise I’ll save the last dance for you.”

*

**2020: September**

Laying Robin’s memory to rest had been the simple part, in some ways. It was the months that came after that had been the most tough. It was seeing his mum through the worst year of her life while seeing Louis through the same. But seeing the two of them sitting in a cafe, drinking tea and getting along perfectly well without his input made all of that easier to bear.

“You know you’ll have to meet the rest of the family at some point. Seems strange that you haven’t met—“

Harry flashed his mum a warning look and she stopped speaking. Louis did not need to know everything about his family. There were a lot of things Harry couldn’t protect him from but this was up to him.

“My grandparents.” Harry finished for her. “They’d love to meet you.”

Louis smiled at that, unphased, and pushed his sunglasses higher up on his head.

“That sounds great.” He said and then reached out to squeeze his mum’s wrist. “I’m glad you have people looking after you. Sometimes I feel like a terrible brother, not being there with the girls all the time.”

“You’re not their dad,” Harry disagreed quietly. They’d had this conversation before.

But his mum hummed and nodded.

“I know how you feel. Sometimes I think I should move up here, be closer to you and Gems.” She smiled briefly at Harry, then turned back to Louis. “Because I want to be there whenever the shit hits the fan, whether it’s grief or heartbreak or...whatever. I feel even more responsibility now that Robin’s not here. But I’m not that person who drops everything for her kids. Not all the time. I think it makes them better people.”

“But the girls are so young. They still need me.”

“They never stop needing you.” She said. “But they make do. They learn. And Harry’s right, sweetheart. You’re not their dad. You’re a great brother and that’s all anyone, including you, can expect you to be.”

It wasn’t any different from what Harry had been saying for months but Louis looked thoughtful.

“Robin was a wonderful man.” He said, after a pause.

Anne cupped his face and squeezed his cheek.

“And so are you.”

*

**2020: December**

Watching Louis wrap presents was giving Harry hives. Angry ones.

“You can’t use masking tape!” He cried when Louis reached for it, attempting to tape the paper he’d scrunched.

Louis held the paper in place and gave him a look.

“It’s my first Christmas without my mum and you’re going to harp on about tape.”

Harry rolled his eyes. He knew when Louis was hurting and when he was being a shit.

“You’ve used that five times today, already. You’re not going to guilt me out of judging you. At least let me put a bow on it or something.”

Louis ripped off a piece of masking tape and slapped it over the present. Then he tossed it under the tree they’d put up in Louis’ flat just this morning. It was only average height and nothing like the real one Jay bought every year but Louis told him it was perfect. Harry had brought it over as a surprise. They’d decorated it with blue and green baubles and rainbow lights that flashed every few seconds.

“It still pisses me off that you dare to put those under my tree.” Louis pointed at the three square presents under his tree, all of varying sizes. They were covered in smooth, shiny silver paper with purple bows.

“They’re for you!”

“That’s what’s so annoying,” Louis said. “I’ve wrapped mine up like scrunched up toilet paper and yours look like they should be trending on Instagram.”

“Well, actually—“

“Fuck off.” Louis laughed. “Again? Harry, you’re right famous now.”

Harry pinched his thigh. Louis knew how much he hated that word. He had a small (SMALL) following on his social media, thanks to the minor he’d done in photography and the poetic captions Louis wrote for him, while complaining the whole time.

“Shut up. Let’s put the star on the tree. We forgot to do it this morning.”

“Oh, yeah. You’re right.” Louis stood up and grabbed the star from his couch. “Can you just get me a chair and—Harry!”

Harry had hoisted him up from his armpits and lifted him up towards the tree.

“This is much quicker.” He said, with a grin, ignoring Louis’ indignant squeak.

“I’m too heavy. Put me down.”

Harry just hoisted him higher and waited patiently. Louis swore and stuffed the star on tree, righting it at the last second as if he knew Harry was about to complain. Harry let him down.

“I’m not that short, you know. I could probably bloody reach even without a chair. Dickhead.”

Harry chuckled.

“I love it how deluded you are about these things.”

“Twat.”

His mouth dropped open and Louis smirked.

“You know you’re on the naughty list, this year, right?”

“Whose? Yours or Santa’s?” Louis’ lips were pressed together in a devilish smile. “Because I don’t mind sitting on Santa’s lap while he gives me a spanking.”

He fluttered his eyelashes and then crossed his eyes at Harry, poking his tongue out. Harry just stared, wondering when the universe would give him a break.

“Spank me, Santa.” Louis looked up from beneath his thin brows, golden flecks in his eyes catching the light from the tree. “Teach me to be nice.”

Harry was just about to sink to his knees in front of him when Louis’ brash laugh cut the tension and he pushed his hand into Harry’s shoulder.

“You should see your face!”

Harry pushed him right back and rounded the couch to get at the lukewarm hot chocolate he’d forgotten all about.

“So.” He plonked himself down on the couch and waited for Louis to join him. “Christmas eve with me and then you leave to go be with the girls, yeah?”

“My birthday.” Louis corrected. “With you, yes. Then I’m driving up. Little bit unsure about how that shitbox car will go in the snow but I’m sure I’ll make it with presents intact.”

“Oh, I can drive you.” Harry said, watching Louis watch the lights on the tree. He was wearing the blue and yellow minion pyjamas Harry had gotten him last year, complete with minion slippers. He looked so warm and inviting and Harry only hoped cuddles were on the cards tonight.

“What? Don’t be silly.” Louis waved him off. “Your family is all here, now. That would be ridiculous. It’s your first Christmas without Robin.”

“Not ridiculous if I spend Christmas with you guys?” Harry ventured. “Because I already asked mum and Gems and—“

“You know you always do this, right?” Louis huffed. “You always have to be the good guy.”

Harry frowned.

“I don’t do it to be some kind of hero.”

“No, I know. Shit. Sorry.” Louis reached across the gap between them to squeeze his knee. “It’s just...a lot. It’s Christmas, Harry. It’s for family.”

“I know that.” Harry leaned forward too, clasping his mug. “And I want to spend it with you. Every year I get Christmas Eve, I mean...your birthday,” he hurriedly corrected and watched Louis’ smile fall into place, “with you and it’s awesome but I’d love to spend Christmas with you. This one, more than any other. Another body in the room can’t hurt, right?”

“You’re not just another body.” Louis said softly. “And I know mum would love it. And the girls. And… I’d love it too, of course. But we have lots of people in the room. What about Gems? What about Anne?”

“Actually…it was their idea.” Harry revealed. “Gems is going away with The Boyfriend and mum decided she’d like to spend it with Robin’s brothers. They’ve reached out to her the last month or so and I think it makes her feel closer to him.”

Louis smiled.

“So, I’m all yours. My family have volunteered me.”

“Oh.” Louis swatted him. “Why didn’t you say?”

Harry laughed.

“Okay, well, now that that’s sorted...” He said and glanced down at the time displayed on his iPhone. “Can I give you your birthday present now?”

“What?”

“It’s midnight.” He said. “Happy birthday Lou.”

He moved in for a hug and Louis met him in the middle.

“I know it’s bittersweet. The holidays. Your birthday.” He kissed the side of his hair. “

“Yeah.” Louis nodded. “Um—can I have my present now?”

Harry laughed and bent down to retrieve it. He placed it in Louis’ waiting hands and squeezed them just once.

“The other two are for Christmas.”

They both settled back down and Harry watched with eagerness as Louis pushed his pointer finger beneath the first bit of tape, tongue sticking out. He was always so gentle when he was opening one of Harry’s presents, gingerly unfolding every flap of wrapping paper and smoothing out each one as he went. Harry waited until Louis had revealed the object inside. It was a navy-blue jewellery box tied up with silver ribbon.

“An engagement ring?” His eyebrows went up but his throat bobbed like a buoy in the ocean. “It’s a little soon, Harold.”

Harry shook his head.

“Open it, please.”

Louis quickly slid the ribbon off and then cracked the box open. Inside, on a white cushion, was a silver ring with four blue gems. The ones on the outer edges were a greenish-blue. Turquoise. The ones on the inside were bright, clear blue. Aquamarine. Louis stared at the ring inside, his expression unreadable.

“It’s yours and your mum’s birthstones. Together.”

“Oh.” Louis was strangely silent as he picked up the ring and twisted it this way and that, watching it catch the light. “I see.”

Harry was suddenly unsure.

“Does that mean you don’t like it? I know I’m the one who likes rings but I thought you’d make an exception for this. It matches your eyes. And I got your size while you were sleeping. But if you don’t like it or it’s too sappy or too…well, I can take it back?”

Louis slid the ring onto his finger and held his hand up to the light again. It glittered.

“No. It’s perfect.” Louis whispered and turned to meet his gaze. His eyes blazed bright but they had filled with tears, so thick it looked inevitable that they would soon brim over. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t mean to upset you. Nothing sad tomorrow, I promise.”

Harry held his hands up and Louis laughed, dabbing at his eyes. The ring caught Harry’s eye again and he couldn’t bear to rectify the mistake Louis had made. Not yet. He’d chosen the fourth finger on his left hand. His ring finger.

“And no proposals?” Louis said through a chuckle, playing with his ring again, twisting it back and forth.

“None, whatsoever.”

Tomorrow morning, he’d have to tell Louis that according to his ring placement, they were already engaged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? I'm so grateful for your comments and kudos and bookmarks. How wonderful it feels to have anyone read my work.
> 
> P.S Next chapter won't be far off. A few days at most, probably. I'm sick unfortunately (not with Corona) which means I can't work and I don't get sick leave which sucks but it means I have more time to edit.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ
> 
> Warning: This chapter contains a short but potentially triggering explanation of sexual trauma as well as suicidal themes. If you'd like a more descriptive explanation before you read, please comment.

**2020: NYE**

Harry thought that by the time the sixth one of their friends had asked Louis if he was engaged, he would have taken Harry’s ring off _that_ finger. But instead he was strangely adamant about keeping it where it was.

“Why is it such an affront to you?” Louis was waving his cocktail around like it was a weapon and not a technicoloured vodka soda. Harry had to grab his wrist just to stop the bright pink drink from ending up on his blue and white polka dot shirt. Louis had seemed so taken with it just hours earlier. “Are you that appalled that they assumed I was engaged to you? Is it so ‘ridiculous?’”

Harry rolled his eyes and removed the drink from Louis’ hand entirely, placing it on the table beside them. It was safer there. They’d been invited out to a soiree at a London nightclub just purchased by one of their closest friends, Luke.

He’d opened the place up just for them…and one hundred of their closest friends. Harry had been having a lovely time, watching Louis shake his hips to the hits of the decade. He’d been laughing at Zayn’s attempts to dance and shooting Harry amused looks where he stood chatting to Perrie and Niall by the bar. Then he’d walked over, shooed everyone away and revealed that the two of them had been plagued by engagement rumours all night.

It was pure insanity. All of their friends knew they weren’t dating and none of them, bar Niall, Liam and Zayn, knew the depth of his feelings. But apparently that hadn’t stopped them from asking Louis how he proposed (which, frankly, showed how little some of them knew him) and telling him it was ‘about time’ the two of them got their act together.

“You’re determined to misunderstand and misquote me as usual.” Harry sighed, shaking his head. Louis still looked stunning, even when he was pouting up at Harry like a child. His eyelids were covered in glittery purple eyeshadow which, in combination with his bare ankles and long eyelashes, made him look irresistibly fey. He wore a billowing white shirt bunched up around his forearms that was undoubtedly see through, revealing the tantalising shape of his body, as well as a pair of tight, _tight_ , jeans. “I didn’t say it was ridiculous. I said it was silly. And I didn’t mean—that. That the idea of… _us_ is silly. I was referring to the fact that you refuse to take the ring off that particular finger.”

“It doesn’t mean anything.” Louis insisted, twisting the ring back and forth. He looked unsteady on his feet and Harry wondered how much he’d had to drink. “It’s just a finger. Not a bloody commitment to you or somethin.’”

He still looked peeved. Around them, the hum of chatter seemed louder than before as the music abruptly cut off. That probably meant they were about to start the countdown. Harry could smell the alcohol on Louis’ breath and the rubbery smell of the helium balloons that floated above their heads, a celebration of a year that had been almost entirely heartbreaking for both him and Louis. There was something terribly poignant about the fact that he would ring in the new year right beside the one person who knew exactly how it felt to be without someone you loved dearly. Another person who Harry could never stand to lose because he made everything, including grief, surprisingly tolerable.

“It means something to me.” Harry grabbed Louis’ unsteady hand and gripped it tight. “That ring. On _that_ finger. It’s not a joke.”

Louis swallowed. His fingers curled up inside Harry’s palm and his eyes got wider.

“I know that. I just…I like it.” Louis put his free hand, the left one, on Harry’s shoulder. He admired his ring which glittered in the light of the club. “And if you meet someone, someone worthwhile, then I’ll take it off. Promise. But until then, can I just…”

His eyes fell shut and he squeezed the material of Harry’s shirt in his fist.

“Okay.” Harry didn’t know what he was thinking. Seeing his ring on Louis’ ring finger would do nothing but turn him into mush until the day that Louis decided he didn’t like it there anymore. On that day, he’d be broken. And sober Harry would never have let him get away with this; this strange request that was no more platonic than the way he’d rubbed his thumb over Harry’s nipple, through his shirt, when he saw him this evening. “It’s fine. Of course, it’s fine.”

Louis swayed into him and Harry held him close as the countdown began around them.

**10….**

**9….**

“Some years are better left in the past…” Louis said.

**8….**

**7….**

“But I want to remember this one.”

**6….**

**5….**

“Want you to remember too. Not the sad parts. Not the grief.”

**4….**

**3….**

“Just this.” He knocked his fist against Harry’s shoulder, eyebrows tented. He didn’t look so inebriated when he stared up at Harry with clouds fading from his eyes. “Just moments like this.”

**2….**

**1….**

Louis rocked into him and Harry’s hand found the groove in his neck that he always longed to hold, no matter how many times he’d felt the satiny skin beneath his fingers. Their lips met in the briefest of brief kisses. Perfectly chaste. A celebration of new beginnings and nothing more. It was nothing they hadn’t shared on NYE before. But Louis’ eyes burned brighter than Harry could ever remember them being and Harry felt himself unwilling to relinquish his hold on the other man’s neck as he dragged him into a crushing embrace.

“Happy new year, Lou.”

Louis clutched him just as desperately, a note of frailty in his voice when he answered.

“Happy new year, Haz.”

**2021: January**

They were fighting. Harry knew because the kettle in Louis’ flat had been unplugged and an entire shelf of books was missing from the bookshelf in the living room.

Louis had described his flat as a hiding place when he was being especially honest. What he meant by that; Harry couldn’t be sure. But he thought it had something to do with the closed in nature of the place, with only one muddied window and very little connection to the outside world. When it was windy, the TV in the living room would shut off and when it rained, you could only just hear the drumming of raindrops on the roof. Harry sensed that it felt less claustrophobic to Louis than the real world, which had often been unexpectedly painful and cruel. Here, in the flat with the hideously grey carpet, strange yellow walls and Louis’ own oddly mismatched furniture, he could control the amount of world he let in. Today, it seemed he wasn’t very keen on letting in Harry.

Harry had come after Sunday brunch with Gemma, with a caramel latte in hand and a new edition of one of Louis’ favourite books under his arm. He let himself in using the key beneath the mat outside Louis’ faded red door. He had planned on repainting the door, after checking with the landlord of course, only for Louis to claim he enjoyed it’s ‘cottage core charm’. His Pinterest was a collection of similarly ‘charming’ pieces that Harry thought would be better suited to a museum than a house.

He’d expected to find Louis waiting in the living room like usual but instead he’d been confronted by the sight of the disconnected kettle, the missing books and the kind of stubborn silence throughout the flat that could only mean one thing. Louis was avoiding him.

Harry threaded his way through the flat, an expert at avoiding discarded shoes and glasses of water left on every conceivable surface. Louis was equally prone to leaving open bottles of nail polish everywhere, balanced on the very edges of his furniture, waiting for an accident to happen. Harry purposefully did not peruse the empty fridge as he walked through or take stock of whether Louis had kept his kitchen the way Harry had arranged it. That is; with dirty dishes in the sink and clean ones put away.

The last time he’d been here, Louis had persistently ignored him in favour of finishing a book while Harry spent half an hour cleaning up after him and preparing a lecture on the basics of hygiene. He adored Louis for everything he was and everything he wasn’t but there could be no doubts cast as to whether he was capable of cleaning up after himself. The object of Harry’s affections was a complete and utter slob.

When he got to Louis’ room, he tapped his knuckles on the outside and waited, teeth digging into the soft flesh of his lower lip. Louis must be proper annoyed if he had disconnected the kettle and taken so many books into his room. He only did both if he was planning on locking himself away for the entirety of the weekend and he usually only did that when Harry had ticked him right off.

“Lou, it’s me. I brought coffee. Can I come in?” He begged. “Please.”

There was a huff and the sound of a duvet sliding around Louis’ bed.

“If it’s that important to you.”

Harry tried not to roll his eyes too hard as he entered. It wasn’t a habit Louis appreciated when they were in the middle of an argument. For his part, Harry didn’t appreciate that Louis often decided they were fighting without any input from or communication with him. It was a form of self-protection, Harry knew, but it rubbed him the wrong way when Louis acted as if there was no conversation to be had, as if giving him the silent treatment for as long as he deemed necessary was actually a form of conflict resolution.

When he entered, he found Louis bundled up inside his duvet, peeking out from inside. The challenging look in his eyes was enough for Harry to know he had been wrong. Louis wasn’t mad. Not this time. He was furious.

“Hello.” Harry said and sat down on the dark green lounge beside Louis’ bed. He held the pink keep cup out to Louis. “Got you this. And this.”

He slid the book onto Louis’ charcoal sheets with just two fingers, trying to appear as non-threatening and as non-combative as possible.

Louis’ hand snaked out to grab the book first and his face disappeared beneath the covers. Then his whole head popped out and he grabbed the keep cup.

“Thank you.” He said, through gritted teeth. His hair was in full fluffy disarray, strands spilling out across his forehead.

“And I presume you’re not going to tell me why you’re so angry?” Harry crossed his legs and leaned forward, watching Louis gulp the lukewarm latte down like it was medicine. He didn’t even like coffee that much, only drank it on Sunday’s when the looming threat of Monday spurred him into craving something sweet and strong.

“I’m not angry.”

Louis placed the keep cup down on his bedside table, next to a picture of the two of them taken at last year’s Christmas party. Louis had been dressed as an elf, much to his own ire. It had been the only costume left at the costume shop after he’d inevitably left it to the last minute. He’d walked into the school gymnasium wearing green tights, a sparkling red t-shirt with matching booty shorts and pointed ears. Louis had looked the very definition of cute and still, Harry couldn’t resist laughing at him all night. He’d tugged on those fake ears every chance he got. As a result, Louis’ face in the photo had been pink with a mixture of annoyance and embarrassment as Harry took the opportunity to whisper another taunt into his ear and kiss his rosy cheek.

Harry had been dressed in a candy cane costume that looked altogether too much like a ‘Where’s Waldo?’ costume now he was looking back on it. The photo was iconic and after much debate, Louis had agreed it was very cute. It still made Harry’s heart go gooey to see that he took pride of place on Louis’ dresser.

“Do we have to go through this every time? I’ve seen the kettle and you’ve got a whole shelf of books under there. And, yep,” Harry bent down to peer under the bed. He popped back up to greet a flustered Louis, “You’ve also got a family sized block of chocolate and two bags of crisps. Either you’re mad at me or you’ve been re-watching Grey’s Anatomy. I know how much you love McSteamy.”

“You don’t know me that well.” Louis said, voice tight. “If you did, you’d know that bringing me my coffee and then leaving would have been in your best interest. You really want me to go off?”

Harry thumbed a droplet of milk off Louis’ stubble and pulled his hand away before Louis could bite it. Biting was a sign of affection with him but he was also prone to doing it when he was pissed off.

“You will anyway, Louis, so why don’t you just get it over with?” He sighed. “You’ll feel better.”

Harry knew that last comment would be enough for Louis to launch a tirade but to be honest, he just wanted to get it over with. He wanted to return to their tradition of Sunday Snuggles and share that chocolate under the bed.

“Fuck you.” Louis shook his head. “You want to know why I’m angry? I’m angry because you went and told our fucking boss that I couldn’t handle all my marking on my own. As if it’s any of your business what I can and can’t handle.”

Harry’s nostrils flared. He dug his toes into the back of his other leg.

“I was trying to help you. You’re exhausted.”

“You had no right, god damn. Why do you always do this?” Louis ran his hand over his forehead. “I don’t need you to restructure my life. It’s incessant. It’s like you get more out of dictating my life than living your own.”

“I know.” Harry nodded, a pit in his stomach from hearing Louis talk about it like this. As if Harry was obsessed with him. “I care too much...you might be right about that. But can we just talk about it calmly? I’m truly sorry if I overstepped. I was trying to help, Lou.”

Harry’s sullen tone seemed to annoy Louis further. He shrugged his duvet off and slumped back against the bed base, biting at his cheek.

“God, why do you always just sit there and take it? Like some kind of chump. Like you’re absolutely whipped.”

Harry chose not to mention that being whipped wasn’t something that usually extended to friendships, lest Louis choose to reveal how distasteful he found that, too. He hadn’t seen Louis this angry in a while. His fists were closing around the edges of his sheet and his eyes were suspiciously glossy, the way they would get when he was trying not to angry cry.

If this was anything like the fights they’d had in the past, it could have come down to something small and irrelevant like him cancelling on Louis because he’d been sick. That had proven not to be an acceptable excuse in the past. He found out the hard way that Louis expected him to drag his dying body to this flat every Sunday so Louis could, at the very least, look at him while he died. His words. But this was something more. This was about the way Harry had always treated him.

“I mean, do you not have a backbone Harry? Do you sit at home and think of ways you can piss me off, just so I can yell at you? Do you enjoy it?” He was on a roll, talking a mile a minute and sending him cold looks as if he’d set out to ruin Louis’ life. Harry could take a lot but he was starting to get that prickly feeling at the back of his neck that he usually got when rage took over. It didn’t happen often, but when it did, he struggled to regain control without saying awful things to whoever had provoked him. It was one of his many weaknesses and something he often worried he’d inherited from his father. “Because fuck, every time we fight, you walk into this room and treat me like I’m a fucking child. But not even a parent would just sit there and take it like this. It’s so god damn pathetic, Harry. See a fucking therapist.”

And that, that...well. Harry knew it was just another defence mechanism, that Louis had been thrown into an emotional shitstorm for some reason and that he was becoming increasingly unsettled by Harry’s overwhelming understanding and patience. But then Louis’ face twisted into a snarl of disgust and he finished speaking with a satisfied huff of air. It was as if all the oxygen in the room had been unavailable to him until he’d gone and properly verbally abused Harry. And the was suddenly much too late for Harry to pull his anger back. Nothing set him afire like deep love and the hurt that came from being insulted so cruelly by someone he loved that much.

Harry had seen the flash of relief in Louis’ eyes and he was incensed. He could be empathetic. Very, in fact. He prided himself on knowing Louis too well to ever be properly mad with him. But he did not deserve this.

“Me? Me, see a fucking therapist?” Harry laughed, coarse and unkind. He felt a satisfying chill run down the back of his neck when Louis flinched. It sickened him how much he needed to hurt Louis back. “All I ever do is try to take care of you and be there for you and most of the time it’s fine…good, even. But when I go to the lengths I need to, to protect you from yourself, it’s like I violated some part of you that no one has access to. Kindness is some kind of insult, when it comes to you. I mean, for fuck’s sake, Louis. It’s like I fucking _raped_ you.”

Louis froze, body gone rigid like a passenger in the immediate aftermath of a car crash, muscles tight from whiplash, the rest of him momentarily paralysed by the shock of the impact. It wasn’t just a word. It wasn’t just an insult. It was a trigger. A big one.

Harry deflated like a balloon, devoid of oxygen or helium or anything to fill him up with hot air the way his anger had just moments ago. His eyes filled with water as fast as they’d ever done, as fast as the dam broke in a flood and as fast as tears had collected in Louis’ own eyes the night, he told Harry about the night he was raped. For real.

“Fuck. Louis.” Harry reached out to grab some part of him, to keep him tethered, to keep him stable. But Louis slipped right through his fingers, scrambling away from him like an animal cornered in the wild. “I didn’t mean...I didn’t...oh, god.”

He couldn’t speak, overcome with disgust in himself. He felt that prickling sensation all over, only now it was different from before. It was less sharp but somehow more powerful. His mouth felt overwhelmingly dry and he couldn’t take his eyes off Louis, crouched on the other side of the bed, his hand scrunched in the duvet and his whole-body quivering, as if tensed for a fight. It was different from before. He didn’t look like he would go into battle for himself. He looked like he would go into battle, expecting to die on the battlegrounds. His eyes were glazed over like mirrors and the reflection Harry saw of himself within them made him physically sick.

“I meant emotionally.” Harry finally said. “Lou. I’m so sorry. To use that word as a weapon against you...it’s unforgivable.”

He reached out across the bed, about to latch onto Louis’ wrist but Louis sprung up onto his feet, eyes darting from Harry to the bathroom. Threat assessment. He’d seen Louis do it only once before, when a guy he’d be dancing with in a club had tried to stop him leaving. Harry hated that he was the cause this time. He hated that he couldn’t be trusted not to hurt the people he loved in some form of egotistical self-defence.

“No, it’s fine.” Louis’ voice was unnaturally high and tears coated his cheeks. “It’s fine.”

He got up then and ran to the bathroom where he slammed the door. Harry heard the lock click into place and he just knew. He knew Louis needed him more than he’d ever needed him in his life.

“Louis.” Harry shouted and ran to the door, banging on the outside. “Unlock the door.”

He could hear Louis crying, noisily, and the sound of water gushing out into the basin. He’d turned it on to cover the sound of him rifling through his bathroom cabinet but Harry could hear him anyway. He could hear bottles clinking together and then falling into the sink. He heard the sound of Louis’ breaths, each one shorter and shallower than the last.

Harry did a quick mental inventory of what Louis had in there but he couldn’t visualise the names on the bottles. He didn’t know what Louis was thinking or how accurate his own assumptions were about what was going on in there. But he heard Louis’ sobs breaking into high pitched keens and then the abrupt sound of glass shattering.

“Louis, please, _please_ talk to me. I don’t want to break down the door. I don’t want to do that.” He sounded desperate, even to his own ears. “Louis, please.”

There was silence for a moment and then the sound Harry had been desperately hoping not to hear. It was the sound of pills being shaken out of a bottle. Harry didn’t think, didn’t pause. He slammed his side into the door. Once. Twice. Three times. Sobbing. It gave with an almighty crack, wood splintering, and he burst through the door, colliding with a hard body and falling sideways into the counter. Hip first.

He growled in pain, eyes squeezed shut, but knew he couldn’t afford to feel it. He turned and grabbed a wide-eyed Louis, horrified at the image he presented. His shaking hands were dripping with blood. One of them was clenched in a fist and the other was palm up and covered in an array of pills. Harry swept his hand over Louis’ and knocked the pills away, sending them spinning out across the white tiled floor. They pinged off the broken glass on and the edge of the shallow bath tub that held droplets of Louis’ blood.

Harry’s eyes travelled to Louis’ bare feet, that looked so fragile, surrounded by shards of glass from the mirror he’d obviously punched. It was caved in, in the middle and there were a range of medication bottles floating in the basin as it overflowed with water.

“Please.” Louis was shuddering, his eyes locked on Harry. “Help me, Haz.”

For a moment, Harry felt the world settle, like a city rearranging itself after an earthquake. Like New York after 9/11, when the world collectively grieved but the recovery began. For a moment, he could see a way out of this. And then Louis spoke again.

“Help me end it.”

Harry crushed Louis to his chest, enfolding his shivering body in warmth and pressure. He knew those two things helped but god, how could it ever be enough? He couldn’t protect Louis from this; from the memories he, himself, had triggered, from the events of that night that Louis had never come to terms with.

“No, I won’t. I won’t let you give up; you hear me? I will get you through this.”

“Please.” Louis was clinging to him, fingers knotted in his curls. “I can’t. I think about it every time I have sex. I think about it every time you’re nice to me. I think about it every time someone makes me feel safe or happy or okay. It’s always there. Always.”

He went limp against Harry and Harry struggled with him all the way to the bedroom. He laid him down, swinging his legs, clad in Harry’s grey joggers, up onto the bed. It made his throat thick, watching Louis curl up into a ball, in his clothes and continue to cry, rasping sobs, that left Harry’s own chest burning from the sound.

“It’s going to be okay. I know it doesn’t feel like it right now but it will.” Harry gripped his neck, rubbing his thumb over the spot behind Louis’ ear. “I’m going to get you some help, baby.”

Louis continued to cry and plead for a different kind of help as Harry dialled emergency services. It seemed he was too weak to fight Harry on it though and he was compliant as Harry asked him to drink some water and then to sit still as Harry pulled his own coat over his shoulders and put some socks and shoes on him. As they were waiting for the ambulance, Louis’ tears began to slow and then still, melting off his face like snowflakes in the sunlight. He seemed frozen and in shock as Harry hugged him close, whispering assurances into his ear. But then. He whispered back.

“Please don’t let them take me to a mental hospital. Whatever you do, Haz, just promise me that. I don’t want to be alone in there. I don’t want to do this without you.”

*

**2021: July (Six months later)**

“Are you coming or not?” Zayn was pulling on a jacket and patting his pockets for his keys. “The boys aren’t. Niall’s at work and Liam said he’d rather see Louis tonight at dinner. But you could.”

Harry was lying on the couch with his head in a book and a half empty bottle of wine on the table beside him. He might have indulged a bit too much lately but he was cutting back, as of tomorrow. He’d done enough damage to Louis. There was no point doing the same to himself.

“Did you run that by him?” Harry asked. “Because if you did, I think I already know his answer.”

Zayn was sheepish.

“I mean, yeah, he said he didn’t want you to be there. But c’mon, Harry, you guys need to get over this. You did the right thing calling the ambulance and the rest wasn’t your fault. There was nothing you could have done.”

“I know that.”

“Then why—“

“Because I did this to him.” Harry slammed the book shut and looked up at Zayn whose denim jacket and band tee did nothing to soothe the part of him that missed Louis. “I’m the one who brought it up. I triggered the suicide attempt and so I’m responsible for everything that happened after it.”

“That’s not true.” Zayn persisted.

“Oh really? Then why didn’t he let me see him?” Harry’s voice shook. He could taste the remnants of red wine on the back of his tongue and it had never tasted staler. It had never seemed less enticing “It’s been six months Zayn. Not a word. He blames me for what happened and I get it. I’d blame me too…I do.”

“Look, he’s coming here for dinner anyway. It’s not like he’s going to ask you not to eat with us. You might as well get the awkward, nasty part out of the way this afternoon.”

Harry opened his book again.

“Bye Zayn.”

There was a huff, a string of curse words and then the slam of a door as Zayn left to go get Louis from the facility, he’d spent the last six months at. Harry didn’t know what tonight would be like but he knew Zayn was underestimating how tense it would be, how awful. Harry took another swig from the wine bottle. It was fine. Tomorrow he would kick that bad habit, and every other one he’d picked up in the last few months.

*

**2021: July (Later that day)**

Zayn had been completely wrong. Harry knew it from the moment Louis entered the flat, head down and shoulders hunched as if he expected someone to tell him to get out. His hair was shorter than it had been the last time Harry had seen him but his face was slightly fuller, less aged. He wore pale blue jeans, cuffed at the ankles, and a plain white shirt and he looked so heart achingly beautiful, Harry let out a stupid gurgling sound at the sight of him.

Louis looked up straight away, his eyes travelling the short distance from the entryway to the living room couch where Harry was splayed out in a shirt that was too nice for an at-home dinner and jeans that were one size too small. His own hair had grown since Louis last saw him, finishing just below his shoulders. He’d pulled it up into a messy bun, in hopes no one would notice that it was damp and stringy from three day old sweat rather than a shower. Personal hygiene was something he needed to work on too.

“Oh.” Louis’ eyes shifted south of Harry’s and the room had never felt so empty to him when Louis was in it. “Hello.”

It hit Harry in the solar plexus, the sweet, soft rasp of his voice that was so painfully Louis and so painfully _not_ Louis that Harry just wanted to get closer. Close enough to bridge the gap between them. Close enough to make sense of what he’d done to them and how he could change it.

“Hey.” Harry kept his voice calm, with effort, and stayed where he was, with even more. The last time he saw Louis, he was clawing at the sides of his hospital bed as they wheeled him into a patient transport vehicle. He screamed for Harry and pleaded with him to make them stop. Harry hadn’t been able to stop his own tears as he ran after them. He’d grabbed Louis’ hand and squeezed it at the last moment, promising that he wouldn’t be alone. No matter what. Yet, hours later, when he’d called to ask what time he could visit, the staff at the London Psychiatric Centre had informed him that Louis had final say on who could and could not visit. Harry was not welcome. “How are you?”

The question hung between them like limp cheese on a margarita pizza. Louis’ face tensed so strongly that the veins in his neck stood out and for a moment, Harry saw the burning pain of the man he’d met that awful night, six months ago. Then Louis took a deep breath, smiled and turned away. He spoke quietly to Zayn who looked at Harry from beneath downturned eyebrows. Moments later, Louis left the room, without a single glance in Harry’s direction and he knew. There was a chasm between them he could not cross.

Zayn came over and informed him that Louis wasn’t comfortable eating with him and perhaps it would be best if he did take dinner in his room, after all. Harry left the flat instead, ashen faced and battling the desire to go sink a bottle or two of wine at one his of his usual haunts. Not this time, he told himself. He hated the person he’d been in the intervening months and whether Louis ever forgave him or not, he couldn’t be that shell of a man anymore. He owed it to everyone else in his life.

In place of drinking, he drove around the streets of London, listening to Fleetwood Mac and thinking about how Louis had looked like a heartthrob in that soft white shirt with an equally soft fringe.

At half past two in the morning, Niall sent him a text telling him that Louis had just left and that he could come home. _It’s okay now_ , he wrote, _you can come back._ But Harry feared it would never be okay again, not if he’d lost Louis for good. He could taste the ache of it in the back of his mouth, like day old alcohol, and he wondered if anything else would ever slip through his fingers as easily as Louis just had.

*

**Roughly six years ago**

_They got home from the club at five in the morning. Harry was so tired, he immediately slumped down onto the couch, curling his arm around the side of it with a groan. His eyes itched, his feet were pounding and he could still feel the thumping of music he didn’t even like reverberating through his body._

_“Oh c’mon, H, don’t fall asleep on me now.” Louis climbed onto the couch and sat between his spaced apart thighs, digging his finger into the hole in Harry’s jeans that lined up perfectly with the back of his knee. It tickled and he wriggled away from it, frowning. “Don’t you want to stay up and talk about whether a tree makes a sound if you’re not around to hear it?”_

_Harry’s eyes were closed and he wasn’t facing Louis but he frowned, a little bit of drool leaking out onto Louis’ cushion which smelled of Doritos and aftershave._

_“What?”_

_Louis poked him again._

_“Philosophy. C’mon. ‘I think, therefore I am.’ Socrates. Descartes. Nietzsche. Aristotle. Please tell me you’ve at least heard of tabula rasa.”_

_“Oh my god.” Harry groaned, sticking his fingers in his ears. “You’re such a nerd.”_

_He didn’t find such qualities attractive. No, sir. He certainly hadn’t read every book Louis had given him the past month, none of which pertained to his favourite topics: music from the 60’s and 70’s, gender politics and science fiction. Louis loved romance, fantasy and all kinds of books that Harry enjoyed but he had a mystifying connection with classic literature, history and books that covered topics as complex as quantum physics. He’d been a class clown for much of high school and had only began excelling when he fell in love with reading. He’d told Harry he was making up for lost time._

_“Shut up.” Harry could hear the smile in his voice. “Can you sit up please? I actually want to chat.”_

_Harry heard the strange new inflection in Louis’ voice. It was as if his vocal cords were being squeezed. Hard. He wriggled until Louis moved out of the way and then flipped over, drawing his legs up towards him. He studied Louis who sat with his knees tucked up against his chin, his eyes large and devoid of humour. He had his fingernails in his mouth and the shirt he’d borrowed from Harry was unbuttoned all the way down the middle with loose, undone cuffs. He looked bare and yet contradictorily confined._

_“Are you okay?” Harry said with furrowed brows. “You’re not pregnant, are you?”_

_Louis picked at a non-existent thread on his knee and smiled briefly. His fringe fell, strand by strand, to meet the tops of his darkened eyelashes._

_“No. Not yet.” He joked. “I, um, did you see me with that guy tonight?”_

_How could I not, Harry thought, but he knew this wasn’t the time. He didn’t know what he was thinking, anyway. Louis was a friend, a close friend for sure, but a friend nonetheless. Nothing more._

_“Yeah? How did that go? I thought maybe you might have ended up going home with him after you guys went to the bathroom. You were in there for a while, huh?”_

_Louis’ face tightened even further and he began digging the side of his nail into his thigh._

_“Yeah, um, we didn’t do anything, actually. How stupid is that?”_

_Louis looked up, then, searching Harry’s face and Harry knew this was a pivotal moment for a friendship he hoped would last many years. He pushed Louis’ knee sideways, unbalancing his whole body, and made a slobbery noise with his mouth._

_“Pssscht. No. What’s stupid is that someone so much less fit than you wouldn’t want to take you home.”_

_“Oh.” Louis licked the outside of his mouth. “He did. I just...said no.”_

_“Okay. Well. I mean, there’s always next time, right? No big deal?”_

_He was testing Louis, looking for whatever words would stump him or make him tense. But Louis just sighed and looked away._

_“Yeah, no big deal.”_

_“Lou.”_

_“Yeah?”_

_“Are you like…a virgin?”_

_Louis surprised him when he turned his head back towards him and laughed right in his face._

_“Like a virgin? Are you quoting Madonna at me?” He grinned and Harry rolled his eyes. “That song always makes me sad.”_

_“Madonna makes you sad?”_

_“I wish....” Louis turned his cheek sideways on his knee. His fading smile was bitter. “I wish that it could really feel like that with someone new. That you could really find that sweet, soft person who makes your toes curl and that it could feel like what your first time is supposed to be like. I wish good sex with someone you trust wasn’t a luxury and that if you found it, it would be like bleach for all your worst memories. I wish one perfect person could redefine what sex means to you.”_

_Louis spoke with breaks and rasps in his voice, staring up at Harry but looking beyond him at the same time._

_“Something happened to you.” Harry concluded, heart beginning to canter. He could feel the moment building._

_“I was raped.” Louis’ hands were trembling as he pushed them beneath his thighs and took a shaky breath. He couldn’t seem to look at Harry. Had he said this to anyone before? “He was my first.”_

_Harry almost stopped himself from touching, as he had for months now, avoiding the overwhelming protectiveness and affection that Louis seemed to bring out in him. He didn’t care for Louis like that. Couldn’t. They were too different. But now, he needed to be close to this man who trusted him so readily, so bravely._

_He cupped the side of Louis’ face, stroking over the vein protruding from his stiff jaw. His fingers spanned the entirety of Louis’ neck and as his thumb brushed over the hollow of Louis’ eye, he realised he’d never seen him look well rested. Louis never wanted to sleep, even after a big night out like tonight, and his eyes were always lined with mauve shadows._

_“He took your virginity from you but he wasn’t your first.” Harry shook his head, even while Louis continued to stare straight ahead, back ramrod straight. “You don’t have to tell me anymore if you don’t want to.”_

_Louis reached up and grabbed Harry’s hand, interlocking their fingers. His hand was clammy but Harry didn’t care. He squeezed it._

_“And if I do want to?”_

_“Then I won’t do anything with the information you give me, unless you want me to. If you never want to talk about this again, that’s your decision.”_

_“Okay.”_

_Louis finally met his eyes. His face was paler than usual but the look in his eyes was one of strength. Through bursts of speech with not enough breath and with very little prompting from Harry, he told Harry about the job he had at a bar near his university which doubled as a hangout for overworked students who wanted to let loose. He told of a frosty night in late winter when snow lined the road outside of the bar and he had been forced to close early so he could have time to walk down the road to the bus station._

_“I thought everyone had left after I locked up. I had headphones in. I was singing to The Script and calculating the total of my tips for the night in my head. When I went to turn around, someone slammed me back into the door of the bar and held my head there. I heard a zipper and I felt him trying to get my trousers down. I tried to pull away immediately but he stomped on my foot. It paralysed me for a moment and it was long enough for him to whisper in my ear that that if I tried it again, he’d kill me. He pressed a knife just below my ear, just enough to draw blood, and I knew he wasn’t bluffing. So, I just stopped. I didn’t scream. I didn’t fight. When he left, I didn’t even turn around to try and get a good look at him. I just stood there with my trousers down, shaking. It was two hours before I finally turned around, got down on my knees and threw up. I went back to work the next day and told my boss I couldn’t do a close. Not by myself. And that was it. I never told anybody. I never thought there was any point. I didn’t know who my rapist was and I didn’t want to relive it. I got the tests I needed done. No rape kit. I just told them my boyfriend and I had gone bare. And then…I found out I was pregnant nine months later.”_

_It was Louis’ awful attempt at a joke. He smiled, dark as anything, until he saw the look in Harry’s eyes and sucked a breath in._

_“You’re looking at me like I’m an exhibit.”_

_Harry cradled Louis’ face in his palms, fighting to control the tremor in his voice. He didn’t know if he wanted to burn the world down for this man or build a new one. He knew, in that moment, that he’d fight for Louis, always._

_“I’m looking at my best friend who I feel nothing but love for. You’re stronger than I ever imagined. Am I allowed to say that?”_

_“You’re allowed.” Louis breathed. “Even if I don’t see it that way. I could have fought him harder. I could have screamed.”_

_“And risk being killed? You did the right thing. The only thing. I’m so sorry, Lou. I wish I could change the way you see yourself, the way I know you must probably feel about your body.”_

_Louis’ hand roved up the inside of his own shirt, scratching a spot just south of his right nipple. It was distracting but Harry tried not to let it be._

_“The embarrassing thing is...I don’t have sex. I haven’t, since.” Louis coughed, gripping his own knees. “It feels so awful every time I try. Even though I want to. Badly.”_

_Harry was thoughtful._

_“Have you ever tried with someone you know better? Someone who could make you feel safe?”_

_“I don’t know anyone like—“ his head turned slowly and his eyes met Harry’s._

_“Like?”_

_“You.” Louis breathed. “You could do it.”_

_“Do what?”_

_“Be my new first. Sort of. Make me come. Be the bleach for my sexual trauma.”_

_Harry didn’t know how he felt about that last part but Louis was looking up at him with the barest hint of upturned lips and bright cerulean eyes and if he was honest with himself, he knew it wasn’t within him to tell Louis no._

_“I mean,” Louis’ eyes found convenient locations to settle on, none of which included his face. “If you’re attracted to me. At all. Because if you’re not—“_

_“I am.” Harry interrupted and it didn’t feel like a lie. Louis wasn’t his type, never would be he was sure, but he wanted him in a very base, primal way. It had nothing to do with types or relationships or topping. Louis was an attractive human being. There was no denying that. “Very much so.”_

_Louis’ mouth parted. His legs widened, the gap between his thighs inviting Harry in._

_“It would just be like...” His eyes inevitably fell to Louis’ mouth, shiny and wet. “A sexual Band-Aid? Nothing more?”_

_“You don’t want more?” Louis was playing with the zipper on his jeans, pulling it up and then down, over and over, revealing a slither of his underwear every time. It was a new level of distraction. “....do you?”_

_Harry tried to judge the level of want in Louis’ voice but he couldn’t separate the physical want and the trepidation about sex from any other emotions that might be present. He wasn’t sure what he was hoping to hear._

_“I. Um.” He reached over and stilled the hand that was on Louis’ zipper. “I can’t talk about it when I can see your underwear.”_

_Louis froze, looking up at him with a heated expression. Then he abruptly grabbed Harry’s hand and guided it over to his jeans. Without hesitation, he slid it into the open flap, pressing it down onto himself. Firmly. Harry moaned, surprising himself._

_“Is this okay?” He asked, despite the fact that Louis had initiated it._

_Louis’ eyes were slightly less focused when he answered. He kept his hand on Harry’s and rocked his hips up a little._

_“More than. Just....like this? If that’s okay? Underwear on.”_

_Harry nodded, not in the least bit disappointed. This wasn’t about him. He couldn’t have every piece of Louis’ puzzle, the pieces he often wished Louis would trust him with. But he could make his toes curl._

_Harry brought him off with squeezes and tight strokes that he barely managed to pull off (heh) between the tight fit of Louis’ jeans and the slipperiness of his underwear when wet. Louis’ throbbing cock filled his underwear so nicely, leaking steadily. He wanted this desperately, it seemed, and somehow that was not the most arousing part of it all._

_Harry didn’t know whether to watch the throb of Louis’ Adam’s apple as he tipped his head back against the couch and whimpered like Harry had once, regrettably, imagined he might or the fluttering of his eyelashes where they met his tensed eyelids. He was so beautiful in pleasure and completely stunning when he came, tears soaking his face and his curled-up toes twisting this way and that. His underwear was warm and wet inside Harry’s grip and it was all Harry could do not to pull it down and clean him up with his tongue._

_Harry found his own orgasm hours later, in his own bedroom, jerking off to the memory of Louis crying out his name and thrusting up into his touch. It was the last time he would allow himself to think about it: the sexual Band-Aid or Louis’ confession. It wasn’t his memory or his trauma to manage, to keep hold of. He could only hope he’d helped in some small way and that one day, Louis would be able to speak to an actual professional about the innocence that had been stolen from him._

**2021: Still July**

Harry showed up at Louis’ flat at five in the morning. It had only been a week that Louis had been home but Harry hadn’t seen him or heard from him at all. He didn’t realise how much he’d been hoping things would change when Louis got out. He didn’t realise how incapable he was of letting things lie. He was hideous with rage every time one of the boys came back from drinks with him, laughing about an inside joke he no longer understood. He hid it poorly, too. He felt sick with jealousy when Zayn stayed the night at Louis’ and came home missing his hoodie.

“ _Oh, Lou was cold. You know how he is_.”

Harry was going out of his mind. He finally cracked after several hours of mindless drinking. Thank god it was a weekend. He hadn’t had a drink all week but by the time Friday rolled around, he could feel it like an itch in his veins. It wasn’t physical, he was certain. He needed it like a Band-Aid on a bullet hole or a Tylenol for a hangover. Nothing healed but time but he’d do his damn best to soften the blow anyway.

Harry knocked on Louis’ door. Lucky number seven. There was no response. He knocked louder. Still nothing. He kept knocking, head pushed against the door, and when he pulled his hands away, he saw his knuckles were grazed and bleeding. How long had he been knocking?

His vision was blurry, with lack of sleep or alcohol, he didn’t know and all he wanted was to hear Louis’ voice. Not the wooden one he heard the night of Louis’ return. Not the broken one he heard the night he left. The slightly prickly one that was warm and spiced like ginger. His laugh, which reminded Harry of getting drunk together, never alone, and the many weekends they’d sat on the floor in Harry’s room, listening to old records, and debating which artists reigned supreme.

“Louis.” Harry’s eyes were closed. Probably. It felt like someone had poured sand into them and it hurt to keep them open. “If you can hear me, can you let me in? Please? I just want to talk. Just a little. Nothing crazy, I promise.”

He didn’t know what he was on about. His r’s sounded like l’s and he could feel himself slipping into a tenuous dream state, his open palms pressed against the door.

“Just meet me in the hallway. If you want to talk. Don’t have to come in there. Had your favourite wine without you. Felt yuck.”

He was so tired and slumping against the door but it wasn’t working for him. He turned around and slid down, his butt landing a bit quicker than he expected. He leant his head against the door and stopped fighting the wave of sleep that had threatened to drag him under all day. He hadn’t slept at all last night. It was simply harder to sleep when his dreams were full of unending emptiness that he knew wouldn’t end when he woke.

*

**2021: July (The Next Morning)**

“You’re pathetic.” Louis said around the curve of the door, but he didn’t say it like he might have before. As if it were actually a joke. “Did you sleep here?”

“Came. Drunk.” Harry was still groggy. His eyes were only half open as he looked up at Louis from the floor. At some point in the night he’d ended up parallel to the door and the first thing he saw when he awoke was Louis’ bare feet. So small. “Sorry. My head is—“

He reached up to weigh it in his hand just to check he wasn’t carrying his wine up there. It certainly felt like he was. His mouth felt like cotton and tasted of something sourer than alcohol. Man, he needed to brush his teeth.

“You’re a mess.” Louis turned and walked back into his flat. “And you smell like a liquor cabinet. But worse.”

When Harry didn’t follow him in, Louis turned and clicked his fingers.

“Well c’mon then. If someone sees you loitering outside my door, they’ll associate me with you.”

Harry followed him in, devastated by the haystack hair on Louis’ head and the thin grey sleep shirt that rode up above his belly button.

“You’ll talk to me?” He shut the door behind himself. Louis’ flat looked the same as the last time he’d seen it, messy but homey. There were still empty glasses everywhere, half used candles and nail polish bottles on most surfaces and a trail of socks leading to the laundry.

“I’ll make some tea.” Louis said, as if that was an answer. His blue and white striped pyjama pants glided along the floor when he walked, hypnotising Harry a little. “Wait here.”

He sat on the lumpy couch, pulling at the stuffing where it was spilling out of the armrest. He couldn’t help it when he was anxious. Louis’ glances felt so sharp, like pointed knives inside his chest, and he wasn’t sure he could explain himself with Louis looking at him that way.

A couple of minutes later, Louis returned with two mugs. He’d exchanged the pyjama pants he was wearing for joggers and he’d fixed his hair. It was just enough that Harry might not have noticed if he wasn’t so tuned in to everything he did.

“Thanks.” Harry claimed his tea and took a sip. It was milky, the way he liked it, with plenty of sugar. It didn’t seem like a good thing that Louis had given up trying to force him to drink tea, the ‘Tommo way.’ “I haven’t been that drunk in a while. Bad idea. Especially on my own. Just sad, isn’t it?”

Louis took a loud sip of his tea. It was telling.

“Why were you?” He said. “Drinking on your own, I mean? Are you...”

“Am I what?”

“I mean...are you okay?” Louis didn’t look at him when he asked, frowning at a collection of glasses on his dining room table instead. “I don’t blame you for any of it if that’s what you think.”

Harry choked on his next sip.

“You don’t?”

“I...” Louis struggled for a minute; top lip tucked between his teeth. “No, not anymore. That day…I was afraid. I didn’t want to talk about what happened to me. That’s not your fault. The things I said provoked you. I was an asshole. An asshole who didn’t know how to deal with his own shit which is even worse.”

Louis was bringing up his past of his own volition? Harry tried not to look too stunned. Apparently, he failed.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m a changed man and all that.” Louis rolled his eyes but his teeth broke through the seam of his lips and he looked brand new. “Bringing up trauma, that’s something I do now. Point is, I don’t think you could have done anything different. Neither could I.”

“Then why—“

Louis gripped his mug tight, veins popping.

“You saw me fall apart and that’s not okay with me. I can be open now, sometimes, but that doesn’t mean I’m okay with looking like a fuck up in front of people who matter.”

“You are _not_ a fuck up.”

Was he still someone who mattered?

“Please.” Louis put his hand out, figuratively pushing Harry away, always pushing. “Don’t do that thing where you tell me how wonderful I am.”

Harry scooted closer on the couch and went to put his hand on Louis’ knee before he realised it wasn’t the right time or the right emotional climate. He pulled away; face pained. Louis looked like he’d been struck by the same lightning bolt of pain. But it couldn’t have hurt him half as much as it was hurting Harry.

“I just can’t....be your friend right now, Haz. And I know that hurts.” He had no idea, no idea how his words pierced Harry’s chest, how they made new pockets of pain in organs already riddled with Louis-sized holes. “You want to save me and tell me I’m good and treat me like I’m some kind of miracle but I’m not. And the more you think of me as a person, the less I think of you. You give me all your time and energy and forgiveness and I can’t be around someone who thinks I’m worth that. It’s different with you than anyone else. It’s too much.”

Harry’s throat felt hoarse.

“Louis, that’s—“

“Messed up? Fucked?” Louis laughed, but his breath hitched. He paused for a moment, then continued. “You know there’s this folktale about a boy who finds a lover in the woods. She’s like, insanely beautiful, and sings him songs he can’t stop dancing to. He spreads her open, plants a seed in her and when she becomes round with child, he leaves the woods to go tell his family. But when he goes home, he sees himself in the mirror and he’s shocked. Because she’s written her name all over him. In blood. He’s got these bright red tattoos and when his mum sees them, she starts sobbing and screaming and cursing the gods. She explains that he’s been entrapped by a siren-like creature called a _Jenlo. A_ woodland demon. He has no choice but to go back to her, to raise his child and keep on dancing. But the blood tattoos will forever tell the story of his capture, his suffering.”

“Okay?” Harry didn’t mean to sound so hollow. He just wanted to talk about real things, not myths. He wanted to know if Louis ate well in hospital.

Louis laughed. It was harsh.

“You don’t get it? I’ve got blood tattoos from the rape, Harry. I’ve got his mark all over me. But it’s more than that. It’s...every unkind word someone has said to me since then. All of them, collected up and framed, bundled up inside my chest like this storm I’m saving for the moment I’m truly happy. Just so I can fuck it up real nice. I can’t be friends with someone like you. Someone who loves me too much to walk away when I mark you like a _Jenlo_ , when I ruin you like he did, me.”

“You’re not ruined.” ‘Too much’ echoed in Harry’s mind. How could he ever love someone too much? “I thought maybe you’d got through this, this thinking you don’t deserve good things.”

“They couldn’t fix everything.” Louis shrugged but nothing about him was casual. He looked remote, maybe even more remote than he had been six months ago. He was stronger now, that was clear, but he was less reachable too. “And neither can you.”

“I don’t need to. I don’t want to.” Harry said, pleading. “I just want to be here. I want to eat bacon butties with you and mock the people in your building who we hear fighting through the wall.”

“They moved.” Louis said. “Last week.”

He was looking at Harry like the conversation had been had, like there was nothing left to do but part.

“You really don’t want me in your life? Not ever?”

Harry held his breath, waiting for Louis to backtrack, to explain, to laugh and poke his tongue out and tell Harry about the bitch of a nurse who woke him up at dawn.

“No, I really don’t.” He squeezed his hands around his knees and looked up at the mirror on the wall. “It’s for the best.”

His shoulders began to shake the moment he stopped talking and tears slipped down his cheeks, coating his throat. Harry would have held him. Harry would have loved him. He couldn’t now.

“I guess I’ll go.”

Louis grabbed the ring on his finger and pulled it off. He placed it on the table.

“Here. Take this.” He was speaking in smooth tones but the tears hadn’t stopped. “Please.”

“It was a present. Keep it.”

“No.” Louis slid it closer to him, fingers shaking. “Just take it, Harry.”

Harry closed his fingers over it too quickly and his hand met Louis’. His skin was soft and cold and felt like a daydream Harry would never let himself have again. He squeezed Louis’ hand then let go and grabbed the ring. He didn’t say a word as he stood and made his way to the door. He didn’t know what he’d do when he ran into Louis at work or the boys had him over for dinner. He just knew this was an ending. It felt apocalyptic.

“Bye, Lou.”

His voice caressed the words and Louis’ pale face turned to look at him as he left.

“Bye, Harry.” He said and turned his face away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter was heavy but it had to happen. Happy ending is buffering.
> 
> Please let me know what you thought x
> 
> oh and a Jenlo is not a real myth/legend. I came up with it :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter!
> 
> Warning: there is an incident where someone is drugged. But it's brief. And there is no sexual assault involved. 
> 
> Also, the songs referenced are by Louis and Harry but I have sort of attributed lyrics from the real life songwriter to the other because it suited my purpose better. I also made a small edit to one of Harry's which I'm sure you will spot. In any case, none of those lyrics are mine. However, the poem is :)
> 
> Oh and beware, this gets sickly sweet LOL

**2021: Still January**

Harry knew Louis came to check out books when he wasn’t there. He didn’t know how he timed it so perfectly or how he left no trace of himself behind, like a phantom, but he knew Louis couldn’t stay away from this library any more than Harry could stay away from him. Both were a place of worship.

It was only one week before Harry started looking at Louis’ history to see which books he’d borrowed. Gone with The Wind. The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe. Peter Pan. Twice. There were three books about Stonewall, a cooking book for beginners which made Harry smile, in spite of himself, and piano for dummies which made his heart ache. Louis had always wanted to learn but every time Harry offered to teach him (after having lessons as a kid, himself), Louis told him he’d do it on his own or not at all.

“You’re not looking at the books he’s borrowed again, are you?” Perrie was leaning against the library desk, flipping through a book on the history of ballroom dancing. Her hair was tied back in two tight braids and she looked unbearably cool in black parachute pants and a light blue crop top. “At some point, it just gets sad.”

Harry ran his thumb over the picture on the lock screen of his phone. It was a selfie he’d taken of them at yet another Christmas party. It was from two years ago when they got properly intoxicated. Louis’ smile was collected in the folds of his eyes and he’d pulled his fringe across his forehead just in time for the snap. Harry had his arm around him, laughing at something he’d said. They looked like a very cute couple. If only.

“Oh, I’m way past that point, Pez.”

Perrie snapped her book closed and placed it in her brown shoulder bag. The bridge of her nose was pale pink from the heat of the sun outside and her freckles were on display today, no make-up used to hide them. If it weren’t for Louis, Perrie might be his most beautiful friend. As it was, she attracted the attention of most of the male staff, despite being happily married.

“I don’t really know what happened with you two but I just think, let bygones be bygones, yeah? Surely there’s nothing that can’t be solved with a bottle of red and those awful subtitled films you like.”

Harry raised his eyes to the heavens. His friends were annoyingly uncultured.

“There’s nothing I want more. But I’m not the one holding out. Louis wants space, the permanent kind, and I’m just respecting his wishes. This wasn’t my idea.”

“Oh.” She dropped her eyes. “He didn’t say. In fact, when I brought you up, he refused to say anything but that it was an amicable separation.”

Leave it to Louis to break his heart all over again by announcing the end of their friendship like it was the end of a marriage.

“Yeah. He’s not wrong.” Harry had gone down quietly, had decided not to fight. He should have yelled, maybe, should have made Louis keep the damn ring. But that’s not who he is. He’s never been tenacious or stubborn when it comes to things like this. Holding on to someone who no longer wants him around is just pathetic, surely? Why do rom coms make it seem like it’s so damn brave and sweet to risk getting your heart trampled all over for a second time? Not that Louis had meant to hurt him. Not that he ever would. But regardless, Harry wasn’t going to push it. Not this time.

Perrie reached into her bag and pulled out a piece of paper. It was folded in half and looked like it had been torn from a notebook. She slid it across the mahogany desk, eyebrows raised.

“I did find this scrunched up next to the bin in his classroom. It’s good writing.”

“Okay?” Harry held it loosely in his hand.

“Just read it.” She rolled her eyes. “He might not have meant for anyone to read it but whatever. He doesn’t always know what’s best for him, does he?”

She was looking so directly at him that Harry finally realised how she kept the posse of gossipy girls in her classes in line.

“No. I guess not.”

She smiled, somewhat evilly, and flitted out of the library. A gust of wintry air blew past in her wake and Harry could smell the fish and chip shop across the road on it. His stomach grumbled and he realised he’d never eaten lunch. He’d been avoiding the staff room, for Louis’ sake, and he’d gotten used to working through lunch, sorting books and setting up new information sessions on how to use the library to study. Now he could taste the hour old coffee in the back of his mouth, leaving it dry. He wanted nothing more than to walk down the cement pathway to Louis’ classroom and ask him if he wanted to get a takeaway and a cold drink after school.

But he couldn’t. He sighed and flipped open the paper, expecting to see a short three or four stanza poem. Louis only ever wrote for five or ten minutes at a time, as if the cogs in his brain began to whirr too fast for him to concentrate. It was always a mystery how he managed to read for hours, barely moving, when he was so restless in every other area of his life.

Louis wasn’t an avid writer, the way he was an avid reader, but if he was particularly inspired, he’d write anywhere on anything. He’d been known to pen poems on everything from receipts to napkins to the expanse of white space on his shoes.

A favourite of Harry’s had been written in pink sharpie on the underside of a desk in the library…

It was after hours, mid-evening, and the last burst of sunlight made the knobs of Louis’ shoulders look like golden, honeyed orbs. It was distracting, as was the way Louis had been watching him re-shelve books, uncharacteristically still and mysteriously quiet.

Harry was constantly dragging his flannel shirt back up from where it had begun to twist around the backs of his shoulders, exposing his naked back. With Louis so quiet, he killed the time humming the melodies from his favourite rock songs and stomping the beat into the ground whenever the urge struck.

Louis stayed perched atop a desk in the middle of the room, legs crossed beneath him, fingers splayed out either side. But as Harry finished re-shelving the history section, he’d jumped down from his perch, pulled a sharpie from his bag and slid underneath the desk to write.

Harry hadn’t read it until the next day, had rerouted his path immediately when Louis noticed him heading over. But ever since, he’d wondered if that poem meant what he hoped it meant or if he was fooling himself. It proved Louis thought a lot of him, sure, but he knew that. He still remembered the poem, even though he hadn’t looked at in years.

_My Ignition (Another Remix)_

_Little rays of sunshine,_

_Trapped between the teeth,_

_Of a solar flare in flannel,_

_Getting me in deep._

_Found a little bonfire heart,_

_In a city that always sleeps,_

_When I’m always waking,_

_From the cruellest of dreams._

_Got tequila drunk on the glow,_

_In those Christmas tree eyes,_

_Spent summers wrapped in you,_

_And skyscraper highs._

_Climbed rooftops and flagpoles,_

_Just to get a better view,_

_Now I’m sitting right here,_

_And it’s blazing in you._

When Harry gently enquired about it, about what it really meant, Louis had ducked his head down and shrugged.

“It’s friendship, innit? It’s kind of like soulmates, I think.”

And Harry had been too moved to talk, to press for more. Besides which, Louis had busied himself with getting snacks from his bag, shaking his fringe out in front of his eyes.

Niall had laughed at him later when Harry naively confided in him about it.

“He talked about getting drunk and high off you? Yeah, that’s something friends say. Kesha should rename her song. Your love is my drug…. bro.”

“Shut up.” Harry had grinned and pushed Niall away, trying to calm the thundering of his heart that wanted so much for him to be right. He just…wasn’t certain. And the risk, the risk of losing what they had, that would always seem too great.

But this, this page of writing that Perrie had found, wasn’t a poem. It was a song. Or, two songs?

_Nothing makes you hurt like hurtin' who you love_

_And no amount of words will ever be enough_

_I looked you in the eyes, saw that I was lost_

_For every question why, you were my because_

_You're the habit that I can't break_

_You're the feelin' I can't put down_

_You're the shiver that I can't shake_

_You're the habit that I can't break_

_You're the high that I need right now_

_You're the habit that I can't break_

_You give me the time and the space_

_I was out of control_

_And I'm sorry I let you down_

_I guess that I know what I already knew_

_I was better with you_

_And I miss you now_

_I’m in my bed,_

_And you’re not here,_

_And there’s no one to blame,_

_But myself and my shaking hands._

_Forget what I said_

_It’s not what I meant_

_And I can’t take it back_

_I can’t unpack the baggage you left_

_What am I now? What am I now?_

_What if I’m someone I don’t want around?_

_I’m falling again, I’m falling again, I’m falling_

_What if I’m down?_

_What if I’m out?_

_What if I’m someone you won’t talk about?_

_I’m falling again, I’m falling again, I’m falling_

_And I get the feeling that you’ll never need me again_

_~~I knew you were way too bright for me~~ _

_~~I’m hopeless, broken, so you wait for me in the sky~~ _

__

_fuck_

Harry cries. He doesn’t blubber. Thankfully. Because there are students still in the library and that wouldn’t be a good look. But he catches several tears in the sides of his fingers, looking at Louis’ chicken scratch writing and wondering if these heartbreak anthems have anything to do with him. He can’t help but wonder if maybe he missed something, if he got something wrong. Because he thought this goodbye came from some misplaced fear that Harry would never be able to look at him the same way again after what happened. He thought Louis saw his pain as being contagious and that he couldn’t stand to be around someone who wanted to help him like Harry did, like he does.

Maybe all of that is true. Louis has always been afraid of being raw and honest, has always acted as if his past and his demons were a burden that Harry shouldn’t have to carry. But; what if that’s not the only reason? Why did Louis cut himself off from just him, from just Harry? After all, he’s not the only one who has ever tried to help. The boys might not know what happened to Louis but they’ve seen the scars. They’ve been gentle in ways that Harry have never seen them be with anyone else, particularly Liam. So why Harry? Why is Louis so determined to protect him and sacrifice something so important to him in the process?

He dials Zayn’s number. He should be working but he can’t right now, not with this weighing on his mind. He taps his fingers against the desk as he waits for the call to connect.

“Haz? What’s up?”

“Hey mate, how’s work?”

“Fine...” Zayn trailed off. “Apart from the fact that you’re freaking me out by calling me at this time. Is it Niall or Louis?”

Harry said nothing.

“Louis, then. Look, I told you he just needs time. He’ll come round. He loves you.”

“Yeah, about that,” Harry ran his hand over the lined notebook paper. It was smooth and soft but he imagined he could feel the places where Louis’ pen had almost torn through, carrying his burdens. “How does he love me?”

“What?”

“I mean...” he huffed, blowing an errant curl off his nose. “Does he love me like he loves you boys… like a brother? Or does he love me like...more?”

“Well.” Zayn was very quiet. Harry could hear the clock ticking in his office at the gallery. “I’d never send a nude to my brother.”

“You know about that?!”

“Course. He asked me if he should wear panties or not.”

Harry put his head on the desk and groaned. He could still hear Zayn laughing.

“I heard you enjoyed yourself too.”

Harry rolled his eyes.

“An understatement. But look, tell me the truth, is Louis...is he, like, into me? At all? Because I’ve got this thing he wrote that Perrie found and it sounds like he might be. It sounds like…maybe he wishes he didn’t cut me off. And that’s good but like, I need to know if it’s more. I need the truth. Because if there is more, I can’t let this go. I won’t let him force me out of his life.”

“I’d have told you if I knew. I’m not an asshole.”

“But I know you. You do what’s best for Louis, always, so if you thought it was in his best interest for me not to know...”

Zayn sighed.

“Okay, yeah, you have a point but I’m not hiding some big secret. I’ve always thought he might. But I don’t know for sure. Only Louis knows that.”

“Right, okay.” Harry chewed on the inside of his mouth.

“But can I give you some advice?”

“Please.”

“If you want him to trust you, to be vulnerable with you, whether that’s as a friend or as something more, you would do well to be vulnerable with him first. Be honest. I should have told you that earlier, probably. I was…unsure. But I think he needs that. I think he needs a sign even more than you need one.”

“I can’t be proud anymore, can I?”

“No. And neither can he. It’s not worth it.”

Harry thanked him and then hung up. Then he slid his desk drawer open, almost pulling it out completely in his haste. He pulled his notebook out and started writing what he wanted to say, what he’d always wanted to say. When he was done, he folded it up and slipped it inside the romance book Louis had asked one of his librarians to set aside for him. He wondered how Louis would feel when he read what Harry had written, if it would make waves inside him the way his writing had done to Harry.

_Walk in your rainbow paradise_

_Strawberry lipstick state of mind_

_I get so lost inside your eyes_

_Would you believe it?_

_You don't have to say you love me_

_You don't have to say nothing_

_You don't have to say you're mine_

_I'd walk through fire for you_

_Just let me adore you_

_Honey_

_I'd walk through fire for you_

_Just let me adore you_

_Like it's the only thing I'll ever do_

_You're wonder, under summer skies_

_Brown skin and lemon over ice_

_Would you believe it?_

_You don't have to say you love me_

_I just wanna tell you something_

_Lately you've been on my mind_

_Honey_

_I'd walk through fire for you_

_Just let me adore you_

_Oh honey_

_I'd walk through fire for you_

_Just let me adore you_

_Like it's the only thing I'll ever do_

_No, you don’t have to keep on being strong for me and you_

_Acting like you feel no pain, you know I know you do_

_And I can't get inside when you're lost in your pride_

_But you don't have a thing to prove_

_Been up all night, all night runnin' all my lines_

_But it's only the truth_

_Been up all night, not sure how to say this right_

_Got so much to lose_

_Never been so defenceless_

_Never been so defenceless_

_You just keep on buildin' up your fences_

_But I've never been so defenceless_

_I hope that I’m not asking too much_

_Just wanna be loved_

_By you_

_And I'm too tired to be tough_

_Just wanna be loved_

_By you_

*

**2021: Later that day**

By the time the end of school rolled around, Harry had decided it was best if he hand delivered the book to Louis in his classroom. No more miscommunication or messages lost in translation. No more wasted opportunities.

He marched down the walkway to the corridor that housed Louis’ classroom, shaking his head at the hordes of excited teenagers slamming lockers and screaming to their friends who were less than a metre away. When he pulled the glass door open and stepped into the corridor, the silence filled his lungs with breath.

He strode down the hall, book underarm, pride firmly tucked away. But he stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Louis leaning against the door of his classroom, talking to someone who Harry recognised well. They were both laughing, their bodies angled towards each other, and Louis had his fingers on the man’s arm, curling into his muscle.

Harry quickened his pace and arrived just in time to interrupt whatever sleazy comment had been about to fall out of his brother’s mouth as he reached over and squeezed the delicate mass of Louis’ shoulder. Harry’s heart was in his throat. He felt nauseous seeing them connected like that.

“Tanner, what are you doing here?” He said through gritted teeth.

Tanner’s eyes traced his face and the absent curve of his mouth. His hand dropped from Louis’ shoulder and he crossed his arms instead, a smirk twisting his lips.

“Is that any way to greet your favourite sibling?”

Louis was frowning at Harry but Harry ignored him for now. It was no easy feat. The open collar of his pale orange shirt was tucked into white jeans that flared out at the bottom. If they were alone, he might have said something. He might have tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear and said something sweet but moronic like; there’s a piece of me in how you dress. Now was not the time.

“Gemma’s my favourite sibling.”

He didn’t cringe when Tanner’s eyes tightened. They both knew there was a reason.

“Haz, what are you doing here? I just ran into Tanner, here. He was looking for you?”

Louis’ voice was soft and too tender for someone who had effectively broken up their friendship. But he still had that furrow between his eyebrows and Harry knew why. The subject of his younger brother Tanner was one they’d never spoken about. Louis had to be wondering why Tanner looked more like a younger, less ripped version of Taylor Lautner, and nothing like Harry or Gemma. He had to be wondering why he didn’t even know Tanner existed.

“I just came to give you this.” Harry held out the book. “I saw you were going to borrow it. Thought I might hand deliver it instead.”

Louis took it, eyebrows raised, but he looked like he had more questions about the existence of Tanner than why Harry had come to see him. It would all come out eventually.

Harry hooked his hand in the neckline of Tanner’s grey Henley. He wore it beneath a leather jacket Harry had given him in another life. He pulled, dragging his brother away from Louis, relieved that he’d broken the connection between the two.

“I’ll swap you the book for my brother.” He called back at Louis.

“But feel free to swap back later.” Tanner smirked at Louis who frowned and raised his eyebrows at Harry.

_Later_ , Harry mouthed, and turned away. He marched Tanner across the school to his car, rebuffing any of his little brother’s attempts to talk, and then pushed him up against it.

“You can’t flirt with Louis.” He said, crossing his arms.

Tanner rolled his eyes. They were light brown like the worn leather interior inside Harry’s car and never managed to hold any true contrition for his behaviour.

“For a big brother, you really are a bore. You know you can’t veto every guy I want to date, right?”

Harry had, in the past, been judgemental of Tanner’s dates but that was because they were usually more than ten years older than him and funded his drug habit in exchange for sex. Harry had tried to help him in as many ways as was humanly possible, but Tanner was as allergic to growth as he was to functional relationships.

“Maybe not. But I can veto this one.”

“Why? He’s not good enough for me, is that it?”

“For starters, Louis’ been through hell. He doesn’t need any more toxicity in his life. So no, it’s not that he’s not good enough for you. It’s that you’re not good enough for him.” He said pointedly. Tanner scowled. “And if that’s not enough for you, I actually happen to be in love with him. And, well, I think he might feel the same.”

Tanner shook his head and then walked around to the passenger side of Harry’s rusted red Peugeot. He yanked the door open and slipped inside. Harry knew Tanner would have taken the bus here like he did everywhere. He spent all of the money he earned from call centre work on flights to exotic locations where he could get high and hopefully meet a new sugar daddy. Just like Tanner’s savings, they never lasted. Eventually even they got tired of his shit. Harry got in the car and started the engine.

“He’s very flirty for a potential boyfriend.”

Harry batted Tanner’s hand away from the radio and turned the knob to his preferred station. The roads were reasonably quiet around the school but driving across London to get to his flat meant he needed good music to bob his head to in the traffic.

“Flirty or nice? Because they’re not the same thing.” Harry didn’t allow him to answer. “And what the fuck are you doing here? No, wait, that’s not what I meant. Of course, you’re here for money. But why did you come to the school? Are you in some sort of trouble again?”

He gave Tanner a long side glance and watched him play with his fingers, vibrating with whatever turbulent emotion was going on inside. Or maybe he was having withdrawals. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Actually, I’ve been clean for two months.”

He said it with a thick voice, glancing at Harry with a strangely anxious look in his eyes. He wasn’t lying, Harry could tell. He was clean and he wanted Harry to tell him he was proud.

“Bout time.” He said and knew it was the wrong thing to say immediately. He and Tanner had never been close, had never really considered each other brothers until Tanner started getting into drugs and needed Harry’s help.

The first time he got clean, they’d bonded. Harry had quit alcohol and junk food as a way of showing solidarity. He had a similarly addictive personality, after all, and they’d ended up having many a long conversation about the emotional problems that drove them to drink or, in Tanner’s case, take drugs. But Harry had never strayed too far from moderation and it had never been as hard for him to stick to a goal.

Tanner was always in self-destruct mode and Harry had long ago given up trying to save him from himself or having faith in any type of recovery. He knew it was wrong. He knew that if his mum was criticising him for it, which she constantly did, he’d fucked up. But she didn’t know the half of it. Tanner’s self-destructive side wasn’t all there was to it. Harry had lost thousands of dollars, friends and jobs to Tanner’s habit. It was a miracle he’d kept him away from Louis until now. He planned to keep it that way.

“Is that all you have to say?” Tanner slammed his hand down onto the dashboard. “God damn it, Harry. You can be such a dick. Just because I flirted with some average looking, English teacher who seemed like he’d pretty easy for anyone who looks at him right.”

“Don’t talk about him that way.” Harry’s voice rose. His hands tightened on the wheel. “You say one more word about him, I swear to god I’ll kick you out of this car right here, right now and you can walk home. Keep his name out of your fucking mouth.”

There was a moment of silence while Harry twisted the knob on the radio again, searching for something more cheerful. Outside the entire landscape was the grey of elephant skins and a thin film of drizzle wouldn’t let him forget that he was trapped in London traffic, in London weather, with his flaky brother.

“Sorry.” Tanner’s voice quieted. “I guess I can be a dick too.”

Harry laughed.

“Look, I really am clean and I came to the school because I wanted to see you. I couldn’t remember the way to your flat. Simple as that. I was thinking maybe we could go out tonight.”

“Out? Where? You’re clean…and sober, I presume?” Harry glanced at him, frowning. “It’s not a good environment for you.”

“Just dancing. C’mon, you know you want to blow off some steam. There’s something serious going on with—” Harry gave him a warning look and he cowed, for once, “that guy, and it seems to me that you need to take a breather. Cool off.”

He might have been right about that.

“The last time we went out together....”

“I OD’d, I know.” Tanner wasn’t avoiding the subject which was a good sign. “But that was years ago. I’m good, now. Great, even. You can trust me, bro. Just let me prove it to you.”

Harry turned his car into the next street.

“With a few conditions.”

“Sure?”

“No talking about Louis. Only virgin drinks or water. And no requesting songs that have no words and sound like someone scratching a record player on repeat.”

Tanner snorted at that and thumped the dashboard, this time with eagerness.

“Deal.”

*

**2021: Later that night**

Harry left the toilets and walked back to the bar where Tanner was waiting with the drinks he’d just ordered. Harry had a berry flavoured mocktail waiting for him and Tanner had an orange juice.

So far, their night had been surprisingly fun. Tanner had stayed by his side instead of wandering off to go join an orgy or score drugs like he usually would. He’d been unusually kind, genuinely funny and interested in what Harry had to say about his job, London and the patchwork of friends he’d discovered there. It was Harry’s first time sharing the details of his life with Tanner in such an unfiltered way and it felt good.

He drank half his drink in one go, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. He’d started sweating when they danced to four songs in a row and hadn’t stopped since. It was something to do with the fluorescent lighting and perhaps the thick black shirt he was wearing with padlocks and chains that hung down from both sides. He’d unbuttoned it to his naval but sweat still glimmered on his bare chest.

“Whoa, thirsty?” Tanner laughed, watching him. “I suppose you have been chatting my ear off for the last hour.”

“Oh.” Harry cringed, taking another big sip. “You’re right. Tell me more about you. You got a job fixing up people’s houses?”

Tanner started to talk about the shallow rich people he made money off (he didn’t seem to find the irony in the way he judged them) and the horror stories he’d been told about some of his friend’s clients. Halfway through, Harry started to feel... _. funny_. He was sweating. A lot. He was sweating so much; it was dripping down his forehead into his eyes and blurring his vision. He rubbed at them, trying to clear them, but the landscape of the club still looked warped. It was disconcerting. He couldn’t be drunk, surely? Was he just that tired?

But then the beat of the song kicked in and all of a sudden all he wanted to do was dance to the extremely repetitive song he could have sworn he’d complained about just a few weeks ago. It was like he was high off his brother’s company. Was that possible?

“Let’s dance!” He shouted, shaking his hips. It felt so good to let go, to laugh and shake his hair and not think about the crater in his life left by Louis’ goodbye.

Tanner did a double take at his change in demeanour but laughed and followed him onto the dance floor. He did an exaggerated shimmy and Harry’s echoing laughter reverberated inside his ears. It made him laugh. Again.

“I love you so much, Tan.” He wrapped his arms around his brother and planted a sloppy kiss on his cheek. “I’m so proud of you.”

Tanner grinned at him but there was something about it that Harry didn’t like. It didn’t look like the Tanner of the last hour who had laughed at his stories of troublesome students and hummed in sympathy when Harry complained about the bitchy new librarian who tried to tell him what to do even though he was her boss. He looked sharp and slimy like the Tanner that Harry knew when he was younger. The asshole.

“Now, was that so hard?” He said. “That’s all I wanted to hear. God, to think I had to drug you to make you say it.”

He rolled his eyes and kept dancing as if that was all there was to it. As if he hadn’t put a potential bullet through Harry’s head. Harry laughed, initially, because the whole world had felt like champagne bubbles a moment ago and he couldn’t quite make sense of the difference. But then the revelation hit him and he was lurching away from Tanner and stumbling back into someone standing at the very edge of the dance floor.

“Watch it.” They said in his ear. “You’re all over the place, man.”

And he was. He was staggering around trying to find the earth beneath his feet as the walls shook and shuddered. His skin felt like stretched elastic and everything was a blur. Tanner reached out to steady him with a lopsided frown.

“I only gave you a little.”

“A little what?” Harry wanted to retch. He wasn’t nauseous, just shocked, and the whites of Tanner’s eyes looked almost eerily white. They reminded him of bowling pins.

“Just a little bit of ecstasy.” He shrugged. “Just to teach you a little lesson about brotherly love. I didn’t take any myself, don’t worry.”

He winked and Harry threw himself at him, hands outstretched, fully intent on choking him to death in his drugged-up state. That’s how they got themselves thrown out of the club on their arses. Literally.

Harry’s bruise would be bone deep but it ceased to matter. His body was being invaded by a drug he’d never taken before and his half-brother had done this to him.

“You spiked my drink? You’re a psycho!” Harry hurled the words at him, hauling himself up off the ground. Tanner stood. He was wide-eyed, holding a hand to his sore bottom as blood from Harry’s nails dripped down the side of his neck. “All because I didn’t say I was proud of you? Who does that?”

Harry could feel the words scraping against the rawness of his overwhelmingly dry throat. He grinded his teeth and imagined he could tear the flesh from Tanner’s bones like a true predator might.

“What kind of monster are you? I could call the police on you, you know. Wouldn’t take much to trace whatever is in my system back to you after your history.”

Tanner swallowed.

“You wouldn’t.”

Harry laughed, a little too long, and a little too loud. Laughing felt good. He wanted to laugh and dance and maybe run a marathon.

“Oh, wouldn’t I? YOU JUST DRUGGED ME.”

“Keep your voice down.” Tanner hissed, eyes darting around the empty alleyway that led onto a busy street.

“Take me to Louis’. Now. Otherwise I’m calling the police.”

“Okay, okay.” Tanner held up his hands. They had Harry’s keys in them.

He must have taken them from Harry’s pocket but Harry hadn’t even felt it. It was strange because the denim on his legs felt like gravel in a graze and he could feel the tiny pebble stuck in the corner of his shoe.

“Less go.” Harry slurred, distracted by the bright glow of the streetlight above them. It reminded him of another night with a much nicer boy who quoted Peter Pan and made him want to fall in love.

“Let’s.” He corrected himself and pushed Tanner towards the car.

*

**2021: Not Much Later**

Louis opened the door to his flat in nothing but tight grey briefs which was...something. What time was it? It must have been early. Louis didn’t sleep but he looked sleepy now, eyes hooded and mouth warm.

Harry was feeling better. Sort of. The sweating had passed, as had the need to dance. Now he just wanted to throw up and go to sleep. His vision was still slightly blurry and he couldn’t hold himself up.

Tanner had dragged him into the lift and then down the hall to Louis’ flat. He’d knocked on the door for what felt like a very long time before Louis opened it, looking way too tempting for Harry to process right now.

“What the hell?” Louis looked between them. His eyes became wider and wider with every glance at Harry’s lidded eyes and sallow skin. “What’s wrong with him? Is he drunk?”

Harry was about to answer when it occurred to him that Louis was talking about him, not to him.

“He’s had a bit of ecstasy.”

Louis’ eyes went wider if that was possible. He put his hands under Harry’s arms and caught him just as Tanner let go.

“What? He what?!”

“Let’s get him inside.” Tanner sounded serious. Strange. He’d been so light hearted at the club. “I think he’s coming down now. He laughed the whole way here.”

Did he? Harry didn’t remember that.

There were groans and shouts of pain as they dragged him inside and onto Louis’ couch, swinging his feet up. When he saw Louis rubbing at his ankle, he realised he must have kicked him by accident. _Shit_.

“Harry would never take ecstasy.”

Louis rounded on Tanner and it sounded like his voice was blazing. Harry liked it. He liked it when the fierceness wasn’t directed at him.

“I may have…possibly...given it to him without him knowing.”

“You drugged him? You animal.” Louis snarled.

“Hey, calm down.” Tanner squeezed Louis’ shoulder. He and Harry both growled. “He’ll be fine. It’ll be out of his system by morning.”

“He’s never had it before. You don’t know how his body will react. You could have killed him.” Louis’ scream was piercingly high-pitched. It hurt Harry’s ears. He did appreciate that Louis said _could_ _have_ killed him and not could kill him. He didn’t want to die. He groaned a little as his stomach heaved and sloshed. Then he bent down over the couch and thew up all over Louis’ carpet. Whoops.

Louis didn’t flinch but Tanner’s nose wrinkled and he plugged it with his hand.

“Wow. That stinks. Anyway, I better go. I have a flight in the morning.”

“You’re not serious? You’re just going to leave him here?!”

“He wanted to be with you.” Tanner said which seemed like something Harry should be saying himself. “Said he wouldn’t call the police if I brought him here.”

There was a silence in which Harry was clueless as to what was happening because his eyes had fallen shut and his head hung off the couch, limp and unusable.

“Well, go on then. Leave. But if you think I’m ever letting you near him again—“

“Funny.” Tanner said. “He kept saying the same thing about you in the car.”

God, he must have been really off his face by that point. Now he felt like syrup leaking down the side of the couch.

“Get out. _Now_.”

The door slammed shut a few moments later and then there was a hand in his hair, stroking his curls. Harry hoped Louis wasn’t kneeling in his vomit. That would definitely kill any sexual tension they’d had in the past. Which reminded him. He still needed to tell Louis how he felt. Not just in a poem but out loud. With actions.

“Hey Hazza, how are you feeling?”

“Think I need to die so I can come back to life tomorrow.”

Louis laughed. It tinkled in his ear.

“Don’t die, love. I read the book. All of it.”

Harry opened his eyes. It felt awful but he needed to see Louis’ face. He needed to know if he was broken or ecstatic or furious. But his eyes couldn’t focus and the harder he tried, the more exhausted he felt:

“T’morrow.” He said, letting them fall closed. “Talk.”

The last thing he felt was Louis thumbing his jawbone.

“Yeah, we will. Tomorrow, we’ll sort this all out proper, love.”

Harry fell asleep smiling.

*

**2021: The Next Day**

He woke with a wince and a groan. His mouth felt like cotton wool and his head felt like it had been run over with a truck.

“Fuck, that hurts.”

“Yep, I’ll bet.”

Harry’s eyes flew open. Sitting on the carpet on the other side of the table was Louis, clad in grey leggings and a white singlet. He was nursing a cup of tea between his palms and he looked as reachable as he had seemed in a while. He looked rested, too. There were no dark shadows, no skin that stretched too tight over his enviable bone structure; the way it had when he was sleeping poorly.

“You sleep now?”

Louis laughed and it was gorgeous. His eyes reflected the amber light of the lamp beside him and it made them look shiny, like marbles.

“Yeah, I do.” He held up his mug. “Thanks to you.”

He crossed and then uncrossed his legs while he waited for Harry to speak. Harry needed to be upright for this. He struggled upwards, cringing at the faded vomit stain on the carpet. Poor Louis.

“Thanks to me?”

“Everything you did for me the past six years lead me to the point I needed to be at, the point of getting help.”

“Breaking point?” Harry wondered aloud. “I know you said you didn’t blame me...”

“It really wasn’t about that.” Louis’ mouth twitched, not with a smile but with some kind of spasm, as if the truth was finally about to come out. “I was being honest when I told you I didn’t want to ruin you. That I was scared. But I was unfair. I was too quick to pass judgment on myself and too slow to realise what I was passing up on.” He paused, eyes a weaker echo of what they’d been when he broke things off. “You found the songs I wrote, didn’t you? That’s what the stuff you wrote in the book was? Some kind of reply?”

Harry nodded, breathless. His jeans were rolled up against the end of the couch and his shirt was twisted around the back of it. He was half naked, hungover and completely defenceless like he’d written in the song. Louis stared at him. His knuckles were white where they held the mug and he shifted his position again, tucking his legs up behind them. It stretched the cotton leggings around his thighs.

“You didn’t tell me you had a brother?”

It wasn’t what Harry was expecting. Not yet. He heaved a sigh.

“Yeah. Well. He’s only sort of my brother. He’s dad’s kid.”

Louis stared him down.

“Yeah, okay. Sorry. But considering what happened last night, maybe you can understand why? I don’t talk to him, for starters. Haven’t for a while. He’s always been a drug addict but also a perpetual user and abuser of people and relationships. He spiked my drink because I didn’t express proper pride, what does that tell you? He’s a waste of space and I don’t want him near you ever again.”

“He drugged you.” Louis shook his head. “He’s not just a waste of space, Haz, he’s dangerous. You need to call the police.”

“No.” Harry said, warmth radiating out from his chest because Louis was treating him with tenderness, even though he wasn’t sure he deserved any. He should never have let Louis push him away in the first place. He should have known better, should have been brave enough for the two of them to risk it all. “No, I won’t do that. He’s not my brother but...”

“But he’s your brother.” Louis finished.

“Yeah.” Harry rolled his eyes. “And he‘s clean. He’s an asshole but he’s clean. I believe that. Anyway. Enough about him. Please. Can we...can we talk about the book now? About what I wrote?”

“Just let me adore you?” Louis’ cheeks were pink. He looked away and hid whatever his mouth was doing in his palm. “That’s about me?”

Louis was sure…but he wasn’t. He needed to hear Harry say it.

“I love you.” Harry felt Louis’ sharp intake of breath in his own chest, felt the corner of his eyes start to prick and his heart melt into his voice. “I think I have since the very first day I saw you, even if I didn’t know it. Even if I didn’t want to.”

Louis put his mug on the table and looked up. His eyes looked like the surface of a pool in the moonlight, wet and leaden and as luminous as the chandeliers in the light shop down the road, refracting the light around them.

“I need you to be vulnerable with me.” Harry said. “Always.”

“I will be.” Louis sniffed, nodding. “I promise.”

“I need you to tell me when the weight of what you’ve been through gets too much.”

“I will.”

“I want you to stop sleeping in Niall’s bed and just tell me to change my sheets.”

Louis laughed through his tears, shaky hands reaching up to catch them. His smile was so bright.

“I will.”

“Okay, then.” Harry’s voice shook. “Then I guess…I want this forever. You and me, forever. I’m so sorry, Louis. For not fighting for you like I should have. I’m not sure I deserve your forgiveness, I’m not sure I deserve _you_.”

This might have been the first time he’d acknowledged it out loud but Harry had always known that Louis’ magnetism made him feel unworthy. Now, he had a lack of strength to add to it. He should have held on to Louis, knowing it was what they both needed. Louis had been strong for so long, had done the work to get even stronger, and Harry couldn’t even risk his own heart just once.

“Don’t. Please don’t do that. Harry,” Louis had never sounded so overwhelmed, “you have to stop too. Stop blaming yourself for my issues. Stop thinking you can change them. Stop using your own insecurities as a reason for us not to be together. I do forgive you, Haz, because there’s nothing to forgive. You say you should have fought but shoulda, coulda, woulda, you know. We both made mistakes. But we’re here. We made it.”

“You’re right. You’re so right.” Harry nodded. “I just…I feel—”

“I know.” Louis nodded. “But you, you said you love me? Holy fuck, you said you love me.”

His body heaved and his eyes fell shut.

“Lou?”

When, he opened his eyes. His face and eyes were a similar shade of patchy red.

“I never thought I’d trust a man again. Or love one. Or be close to one. But I _love_ you. I loved you from the beginning.” Harry’s smile slipped the restraints of his teeth and spread, like wildfire, across his cheeks and into his dimples. The world had already begun to rearrange itself around this new knowledge. Louis loved him. His happiness felt lighter than it ever had in his life. “I loved you when you listened to me go on and on about my hopes and dreams and never interrupted me once. I loved you when you listened to me talk about my trauma, so compassionately, so moved by me, and then brought me off with your hand. I especially loved you when you let me wear your ring as a fucking engagement ring even though it made no sense. I just wanted to be tied to you forever. I wanted to pretend that I was. Because I love you. I love the depths of your soul and your stupid boots and your your awful taste in everything and that smile you only have for me.”

“Get over here.” Harry demanded.

Louis crawled over to the couch and Harry hauled him up into his lap. He cradled Louis’ face, rubbing his fingers across wet cheeks and smiling eyes and memorising the shape of the bones beneath his skin. Louis felt so fragile, a tower of cards beneath his touch, but the way he clung to Harry was his strength. He was bold enough to trust in somebody else, even after all he’d been through.

“Hearing you tell me you love me is the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard in my life.”

Louis’ bottom lip trembled and he bit down on it, trailing his eyes back and forth across Harry’s face, as if he was memorising him too. For the first time, there was no shame in looking, in appreciating. Harry could stare at his mouth and wonder, without consequence, if it tasted of cherries.

“You have something that belongs to me.” He rasped and traced the shape of Louis’ mouth with the pad of his thumb.

“What’s that?” Louis said, looking up at him from beneath his eyelashes, on purpose, the minx.

“This.” Harry said and set about kissing him as thoroughly as he deserved.

Their tongues met in wet glides that left Harry tingling from body to toe as their lips brushed again and again. And again. Louis moaned into his mouth and Harry sunk his fingers into the strangely styled locks of his hair, pulling it free. Had Louis been primping for him this morning?

“You’re messing it up.” Louis complained between kisses, moving his head to catch Harry’s lips from another angle. He was using a mix of varying pressure that was driving him crazy.

“Sorry.” Harry said but he wasn’t. He wanted to mess Louis up properly. His lips trailed down Louis’ throat, sucking, until he got to his collarbones. His tongue slid across them, alternating between lathing and sucking, leaving them shiny and wet.

“Harry.” Louis’ voice was high and desperate. He pulled Harry’s head away. “Will you make love to me now?”

He nodded, emotion closing his throat over. He knew Louis didn’t have an aversion to sex anymore. He’d been the first one to help undo the damage done, after all. But this was different. This was the trust of a man in love given to his new partner and it meant the world.

“Of course.”

He swept Louis up into his arms and carried him, fireman style, to the bed where he set him down.

“Take off your clothes.” Harry said, forgetting himself. “...when you’re ready.”

Louis shook his head.

“You don’t have to do that, you don’t have to tiptoe around me. Tell me what to do. Talk dirty. Just don’t...don’t like hold me down or anything.”

“I would never.” Harry promised. “Not unless it was something you wanted.”

Louis’ hand trailed down between his legs and he squeezed himself.

“Maybe someday.”

Harry groaned and reached down to adjust his own package. It was then that Louis chose to pull his singlet up and off, revealing the trim waist and curved hips he loved so much. Louis’ dusty pink nipples were hard pebbles and he wanted his mouth around them immediately.

“Can I...?”

“Touch me.” Louis nodded; eyes glassy. “Please.”

Harry’s dick twitched at that and he fell to his knees at Louis’ bedside. He wrapped his lips around Louis’ left nipple, sucking hard.

“Ah.” Louis moaned, head falling back between his shoulders.

Harry held his hips, squeezing them, as he switched nipples, toying with the other one with his fingers. Louis’ hands found his curls, twisting them around his hands. Harry grunted and sucked harder.

“Oh.” Louis squeezed his head and then shoved him away. “More.”

His eyes were alight and Harry wanted to see them burn. He peeled Louis’ leggings off and gaped at the sight before him. Louis was wearing a thin white pair of panties with less material than there was skin surrounding it.

“Fuck, Lou.” Harry dropped his head to Louis’ knee and groaned. “I can’t handle you in panties.”

Louis giggled and stuck his thumbs beneath the waistband which was surprisingly hot. He pulled them down and then chucked them away and then he was bare. For Harry. It almost proved too much, the importance of this moment, as Harry surveyed everything from the exposed head of Louis’ dick, wet with excitement, to the gap between his legs, awaiting Harry’s exploration.

“Enough me.” Louis suddenly said, blushing. Was Harry staring too much? Maybe. But Louis was wrong. There could never be enough him. “Your turn. Take them off, Styles.”

He gave Harry’s underwear a pointed look and Harry didn’t have to be told twice. He stood and pulled his briefs down to his feet; stepping out of them. He watched Louis take him in, all seven inches of him, eyes wide and tongue heavy where it sat in his open mouth.

“You’re big.” He said, quiet.

“Are you...” Harry didn’t want to tiptoe, didn’t want to patronise but he had to ask. He wanted to be careful. He wanted to get this right. “Is that okay?”

“Oh.” Louis raised his eyebrows and then laughed. “Yeah. I mean...you’re big but I’ve had bigger.”

That’s not what a man wants to hear from his future husband. Harry glowered.

“Oh, stop it.” Louis waved him away, grinning. “It’s not the size of your dick, anyway. It’s what you do with it that matters.”

Harry could work with that.

“And what to do you want me to do with it?” Harry knew it was something a cheesy porn star might say but Louis didn’t look bothered.

His pupils were dilated as he got down from the bed and crawled over on all fours. He ran his hands up the outside of Harry’s legs, leaving goosebumps in his wake.

“I want you to come in my mouth. Or Inside me.” He said, like it was nothing. “Wherever you want. Just want to be yours. Forever.”

Harry reached down to cradle his cheek.

“Forever.”

Louis started to rise up and Harry thought he might be looking for a kiss. He was about to lower himself down but Louis stopped at his crotch.

“Can I suck you here?” He said and fisted Harry’s cock, slow and tight, just the way Harry liked.

“S-sure.”

Louis smirked and then swallowed him down to the root, barely breaking a sweat.

“Fuck.” Harry gently gripped his head, thumbing at the tears that had gathered at the edges of his eyes. He looked so good with his lips stretched around Harry, pink and glossy and begging to be fucked. “You’re gorgeous.”

Louis pulled off with a wet sound and Harry’s dick jumped, hitting him in the cheek. Louis was...scowling?

“What? Did I...?”

Louis held up his hand.

“No, god. Just don’t call me gorgeous while I’m sucking your dick. You’re not supposed to be sweet at a time like this.”

“You’ve never been called gorgeous while you sucked a man’s dick?”

Louis shook his head. This saddened Harry for reasons he couldn’t explain.

“Then you haven’t had good sex.” Harry told him. “Or been with the right men. You are gorgeous, sucking dick or otherwise. And I will be sweet with you, even when I’m inside your mouth, even when I’m inside your arse. Because that’s what you deserve.”

Louis gulped. He grappled for Harry’s hand and Harry gave it to him. They squeezed tight then broke apart.

“I know.” Louis said and it felt monumental. He was smiling like nothing and no one could touch him. No one, except Harry, of course. “I deserve the whole freaking world, Styles.”

Then he grabbed Harry’s dick and pumped it a couple of times, running his thumb over the head. It got wetter and wetter with each pump until Louis dabbed at it with his thumb and brought it up to his mouth. He sucked it inside and the visual it made was life changing.

“Mm.” He hummed. “More.”

He slid his mouth down over Harry’s hard on, cheeks hollowed out so much that Harry could see the outline of his dick in Louis’ cheek. Then he drew back, lathing his tongue over it. It sent thunderbolts of pleasure through Harry’s limbs.

“Can I—“ he groaned, hips twitching when Louis twisted the end of his dick and sucked at the head. “Can I get you ready now?”

Louis laughed and pulled away with a glossy smile.

“If you must. I was quite enjoying myself here.”

Harry followed him onto the bed, on all fours, after grabbing the lube from the bedside drawer. Louis assured him he’d been tested recently and Harry was lucky enough to have been tested too. The thought of being inside Louis with nothing between them was so hot, Harry had to rub his hard cock up and down between Louis’ cheeks just to get some friction. Then he dropped back down and spread Louis open.

“So beautiful here.” He told him, marvelling at the tight pink hole that greeted him with a wink. “Want to open you up with my mouth first.”

Louis moaned and buried his head in his arms, arse up. Harry took that as permission and licked a stripe up his crack, delighting in the sweet spice of it. Like ginger and honey. Louis’ hole twitched again and Harry dived in, tongue first. He slurped, prodding at it with his tongue until Louis’ tight entrance gave and his tongue thrust straight inside.

“Jesus.” Louis was panting and bouncing his hips back on Harry’s face as he lapped at his arse. “You’re so good at that.”

Harry responded by tonguing at him harder, with more saliva, pulling a glorious chorus of wails and moans from Louis’ lips. Then Louis moaned out “fingers” and Harry remembered that the best part of this for them both was still to come. He opened Louis up slowly, with one, two and then three fingers, despite his protests for more, quicker. He twisted them back and forth, just barely touching Louis’ prostate, but it was enough to send him rocking down into the bed away from the sensation and then rearing back to get more of it.

“I’m ready.” He whined when Harry mouthed at him again, pulling one cheek to the side to get in deep. “Just get in me, please.”

“You sure?” Harry said, fisting his dick as he rose up onto his haunches.

“I’m sure.” Louis was quiet for a moment and then he whispered Harry’s new favourite words to hear. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Harry said, tracing the curve of his hip with his open palm. “Going to make love to you now.”

He held the head of his dick at the entrance to Louis’ hole and then slid in, slowly, one inch at a time, spurred on by Louis’ pleas but cowed by his own concerns. Louis was just so tight around him. With one inch to go, he shoved his hips back into Harry’s and Harry slid all the way home. It was so unexpected, he fell over onto Louis’ back, a high-pitched moan escaping his lips.

“Shit. Warn a man before you do that.”

“Sorry.” Louis didn’t sound it. It was unbearably hot, just as he was inside. He felt like velvet around Harry’s dick, tight and wet, and made for the slight curve of him that brushed up against his prostate and made him shiver.

“Move.” Louis begged, reaching under himself to get at his dick. “Now.”

Harry bit his earlobe, trying to maintain some semblance of control, and then thrust into him.

“God.” He shuddered at the feel of Louis’ walls clamping down on him. “You feel like heaven, Lou.”

“You too.” Louis grunted. “Big dick heaven.”

Harry smiled at that and thrust into him again, holding his hips.

“Harder and faster.” Louis directed, too casually for Harry’s liking. He was determined to leave Louis wanting more. Louis seemed to feel the same because he reached back to grab Harry’s hand and brought it to his mouth. He watched in pure arousal and awe as Louis enveloped his fingers in more wet warmth.

Harry pounded into him and it was part reward for Louis, part desperation. He delighted in the sound of hips smacking into hips, throwing his head back every time Louis’ walls tightened around him like a vice.

Louis moaned brokenly when Harry found the right angle, reaching around to squeeze one of Louis’ nipples while he rocked in deep. But it was so much. Too much. Louis kept twisting his hips and making these guttural noises that Harry would never, ever forget, as long as he lived.

“Fuck. I can’t last.” He said, jackrabbiting wildly. “Can you come yet?”

Louis mumbled something and sucked tighter around Harry’s fingers which Harry took as a yes. He grabbed Louis’ arse in both hands and slammed into him over and over and over again until the over stimulated head of his dick shot hot come into Louis’ hole. He moaned brokenly as his own come oozed out around his dick. He was in some previously undiscovered utopia as he continued to thrust, shouting curse words and pushing his fingers to the back of Louis’ tongue.

“I love you so much.” He said, head bowed against Louis’ back.

He could feel Louis’ body jolting with the effort he was putting into making himself come. Moments later, Harry reached down to feel himself leaking out of Louis. He tugged at Louis’ loose hole a bit, helplessly turned on, even after coming. At the same time, Louis bit down on his fingers and lurched forward, detaching himself from Harry and shooting come up the bedspread.

“Shit. Harry.” He sobbed and collapsed on his arms.

Harry showered him in kisses until Louis giggled and pushed him away.

“Enough. Sleepy time.”

Harry laughed and pinched his bum.

“Yes, sir.”

He collapsed beside Louis, lying in at least half of the come Louis had released, but not bothered at all. He might be later but for now he just wanted snuggles. He dragged Louis into his arms and kissed his head.

“Was I...okay?” Louis traced a circle around Harry’s nipple.

“More than. You were the best sex I’ve ever had. And not just because I love you. Did I—“

“Make me come harder than I ever have in my life?” Louis pressed a smile into his skin. “Yeah, you did.”

Harry laughed. It didn’t feel like the champagne bubble laugh he’d had while on ecstasy. It felt even lighter, like helium, and richer, like death by chocolate. It felt like real ecstasy, not just being in love with Louis, but knowing that he was loved back by him. That was worth growing old for, no matter what Peter Pan thought.

*

**January 2021: Two Days Later**

Louis was nervous, and not nervous in a fun, tingly way. He was nervous in a nauseous, want to crawl under the covers and cry way. The pale blue jeans he’d bought were too small. They made his arse look crazy big instead of sexy big like he’d hoped. His white button down looked okay, especially with the French Tuck he’d learned from Tan France, but it was wrinkly as fuck because he was the kind of idiot who didn’t own an ironing board. And he was wearing fucking suspenders, for Christ sake, at the advice of Niall, of all people.

“Fuck. Shit. No time. No time.” He sang as he emptied out his nail polish drawer, looking for the pink glitter he’d wanted to do one more layer of before he left. Then, as he plucked it from the carpet and went to leap onto his bed, he got his toe caught in a scarily tiny pair of underwear Zayn had gotten him to wear for tonight. Louis had swiftly vetoed it because it made him feel weird that Zayn had pictured him and Harry having sex.

It’s not that weird, Liam had claimed, frowning at Louis’ underwear drawer where Zayn had initially left his so-called gift. Liam didn’t seem to mind Louis’ penchant for very particular feminine items, like women’s underwear and nail polish, he lived with Harry after all, but he probably didn’t enjoy seeing it up close.

Not that weird? Louis had asked. Have you pictured it too? Liam blushed and grumbled and denied it but then said he’d been rooting for them from the beginning and that he had expected them to cave and do it on a library desk at some point. Louis snorted and teased him mercilessly.

Niall had turned up later too, pre-date, informing him he was there to give advice on how to woo Harry. As if I need your help, Louis had said, I’m an expert on the man.

But now. He’d fallen across his bed with a pair of underwear wrapped around his feet and his nail polish was leaking out onto his bedspread and he didn’t feel prepared at all.

He was a twenty-seven-year-old man and he’d turned his entire room upside down looking for a date outfit that would impress his best friend of seven years. He felt dangerously close to a breakdown.

Of course, that was when a knock on the door sounded and he felt the tears rising to his eyes. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t date Harry. Not with all his own baggage and insecurities and his horrible date clothes, not to mention all the things he’d let hold them back in the first place. With a sigh, he realised he was self-sabotaging if he didn’t do this. He loved Harry and Harry loved him. That was all that mattered. Right?

He tripped over twice on the way to the door and opened it with his breath stuck in his throat. It stayed there as he surveyed Harry, the man of his dreams, decked out in white jeans and a stunning cream shirt with lace decorations. He had matching white gloves on and a low hanging black necklace that contrasted with the rest of it. He smiled at Louis in slow motion, disassembling him piece by piece.

“These are for you.” He said and held out a bouquet of peach-coloured carnations wrapped in glossy white paper. They looked fresh, with little droplets of water beading on the stems, and the expensive paper made a satisfying crinkly noise when it moved. “They didn’t have forget-me-nots.”

“These are fine.” Louis sounded like he was choking. He grabbed the flowers, snatched them really, and held them up to his nose, inhaling deeply. “Perfect, in fact. Thank you. But you didn’t have to go to any trouble. It’s just me, Haz.”

“Just you.” Harry looked him up and down and snorted. “Have you seen yourself? You look gorgeous. Did I mention that? Wait. Did I even say hi?”

He held a hand to his forehead, grinning sheepishly and suddenly their pink cheeks were matching. He was so cute. And kind. And handsome. And he was all Louis’.

“Hello.” Louis rose up on his tiptoes to grab Harry’s collar and pull him into a toe tingling kiss, the flowers crushed between them. “You look pretty damn great, too.”

Harry’s gloved hand gripped his cheekbone, rubbing softly. The material felt like silken bedsheets to him and Louis couldn’t stop thinking about how it would feel on his bare body. He reached up to hold it, rubbing his thumb into Harry’s palm.

“I like the gloves. You might have to keep them on for dessert.” He said and bit down on the tip of Harry’s thumb.

Harry moaned and pulled him in by the small of his back. He kissed Louis with a wide-open mouth and minty fresh breath, squeezing his hip and then pushing him back against the door jamb which shuddered beneath their combined weight.

“Hello.” Harry said. He sounded completely breathless as he pulled away. His lips were flushed and his hair was loose from Louis’ fingers. “What a greeting.”

Louis laughed and then looked down at his feet which were still bare because he hadn’t even put socks on, let alone chosen shoes. And then it all came flooding back. The anxiety. The insecurities. The feeling that tonight could easily be the greatest date he’s ever had or the worst.

He didn’t want to disappoint Harry. He wanted to be charming and funny and flirtatious and clever and show him how well this could work. He was the one who said goodbye. He was the one who kept them apart, so he owed it to Harry to be the best version of himself now.

But what the hell were they even going to talk about? They’d known each other for seven years and spoken every day this week. They knew almost everything there was to know about each other, at this point, especially after the last few weeks of drama. What funny anecdotes could he use on Harry that he wouldn’t already know?

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” Harry was cupping his face again and tilting it up towards him, eyebrows tented. “Did you change your mind? Is this too much?”

“No, no, of course not.” Louis was adamant, eyes wide. He’d wanted Harry desperately from the beginning, had been terrible at hiding it, even if Harry hadn’t seen it at the time. He’d been scared for a long time, sure, but every time he walked into the library and saw Harry waiting with a huge stack of books for him and that crooked smile, he knew. He’d never love anyone as much as Harry. “I just… I mean, you think I look gorgeous, really? I’ve not got any shoes on, my hair’s a mess, and I’m wearing suspenders. Suspenders, Harry.”

Harry grabbed his hand and started using his fingers to count, waggling the first, which made the corners of Louis’ mouth twitch.

“Okay, for starters, I don’t care what you’re wearing on your feet. You can wear those stripey toe socks that usually freak me out for all I care.”

“But—”

He silenced Louis with a look and grabbed another finger.

“Secondly, your messy hair has always been my absolute favourite.” To demonstrate, he reached up and ran his fingers through iy, pulling it out of his styled fringe and combing it back down towards his head. It was a nice sensation and Louis might have hummed in the back of his throat, just a little. “And lastly, these suspenders are my new favourite thing.”

He plucked one of them like it was a guitar string and Louis’ eyes narrowed.

“I’m not a toy.”

“Does that mean I can’t turn you on?”

Louis rolled his eyes and then reached up and twisted one of his four nipples. Harry squealed and batted his hands away.

“How dare you.”

“You were being lame.”  
  


“I’m always lame,” Harry said with laughter in his eyes.

Louis grinned back.

“That’s true. Why am I dating you again?”

“Hmm.” Harry planted his hands on either side of the doorway and then leaned in with a smug, I’m-going-to-fuck-you-so-hard-later expression. If there was such a thing. And damn him if it wasn’t one of the sexiest moments of Louis’ life. “I think it might be because you love me.”

He pulled Louis into him by the straps on his chest which was rude and undignified and Louis was not enjoying the way their noses brushed right before they kissed, the flowers dangling from his outstretched hand.

“And I love you.” Harry’s lips moved against his as he pulled away. His smile was glowing from behind the eyes. “I want to take you on this date I planned, very very badly, so can you please stop worrying and go put on some shoes? You are the most attractive person on the planet to me, no matter what you wear.”

Louis turned around to go obey orders, shaking his head at the ridiculousness of Harry’s attraction to him. He wasn’t prepared for the wolf whistle that followed him into his room. He came out minutes later, still blushing.

“New jeans?” Harry was watching him walk, eyes trained on his thighs as they moved beneath the tight denim.

“Um, yeah.” Louis grabbed his keys and his coat and then turned back to meet Harry’s intense gaze. “Do you really like them?”

“I have no words. For your arse. And your legs. In those jeans.” He blinked back at Louis. “Incredible.”

Louis waved him away. Harry was honestly so ridiculous. He was the one carved out of muscle and chiselled for the gods. He’d grown a smattering of hair above his upper lip and across his jaw as he aged and tonight, his curls were shiny with whatever product he’d used to tame them. He looked kissable and soft, slouched against the door with his hands in his incredibly tight pockets, watching Louis with a lazy smile. Yet the bulk of his arms and his shoulders, visible through his shirt, made Louis wanted to slide his hands up inside the material and just go exploring.

“Shush. No more.” He darted in for a kiss on his way past. “I can only take so many disgustingly over the top compliments when you’re standing in my doorway looking like a freaking archangel. It’s just dumb, Harry. Don’t be dumb.”

Harry laughed and swatted him on the behind as he closed the door behind them.

*

**2021: Later that night**

Harry took him to a rooftop restaurant which was unbearably cheesy and so sweet a gesture, Louis felt like it shouldn’t have been wasted on him. It was terrible weather for it. The restaurant had to set up a makeshift roof to block the drizzle from above and the wind was freezing enough that they’d only set up a few booths right beside the outdoor heaters.

Harry had given him his coat after Louis left his in the car which made Louis’ heart skip a beat. It was something Harry had done a thousand times before but it was different now. It was the gesture of a boyfriend. A lover.

Not long after Harry’s gesture, it had gotten far too cold for Harry to sit there without a coat. So, they were both currently huddled inside it with Louis basically in Harry’s armpit, trying to find the warmest spot.

And yet somehow the whole thing was perfect. The wine was sweet, the main course was salty and they’d both instantly agreed that they’d share a dessert. Louis could taste the faint hint of garlic in the back of his mouth but he didn’t see any reason not to kiss Harry now or later, or whenever the urge struck, which it often did. Really often.

Earlier, he’d stumbled through his order of pasta with a side of garlic bread, cringing at what Harry must think, but desperately trying to maintain the illusion that nothing would change between them. He’d never had a reason not to have garlic breath before. Harry had only reached beneath the table and squeezed his thigh, asking their waitress for the exact same, with another order of garlic bread to share with his adorable boyfriend. Louis had rolled his eyes at him but been exceptionally pleased on the inside.

So it wasn’t that the date wasn’t good, it wasn’t that they hadn’t found things to talk about the way Louis had worried they might. Harry had asked him to recount, blow by blow, every sweet or romantic thought he’d ever had about the two of them. That took a while. When he confessed that he often thought about their wedding, no matter how out of the realms of the possibility it seemed at the time, Harry got choked up and could barely talk.

“And now?” He’d asked. “Do you think about it now?”

“Haz, it’s been a week of us dating. And this is our first official date. That would be crazy. Mortifying. The kind of thing that happens in a serial killer movie.”

Harry had smirked, winding the glossy pasta around his fork.

“You do, don’t you?”  
  


“Shut up. You want to marry me too.”

He hadn’t meant to say it. He felt stupid and shy immediately afterwards, but as always Harry proved too good for him. He simply stuck his food in his mouth, smiling so bright that Louis felt the world around them blur and then disappear. There were no rules with them. There was no too much. Not anymore. They both knew they were it for each other.

From beneath the makeshift roof, after Harry had joined him on the other side of the table, they’d looked out sideways at the rows upon rows of Lego-like buildings. Harry had pointed out the ones he recognised and Louis had laughed and redirected his finger, biting at it when Harry dared to argue.

They’d stargazed for a while, emptying a full bottle of wine between them, Louis clinging to Harry’s chest with his head nestled under Harry’s chin. The stars were more like bright streaks of white light, blurred by rain. Yet the faint hum of the love song playing downstairs in the restaurant made everything seem dreamy and romantic. The heat of Harry somehow contrasted so beautifully with the cold of the icy wind on the backs of his ears.

Louis found himself laughing endlessly as Harry asked him dumb questions like, if he met Peter Pan in a club, would they fuck? (Yes, obviously). And where do moths go in the dark? (I don’t know Harry, I hated bio.) And if we get married, would you wear white? (Yes. Right down to my underwear and garter. Harry had groaned).

But in the wake of Louis’ bone deep laughter after the wine had come bubbling up out of Harry’s nose which, believe it or not, wasn’t even the least sexy thing he’d done all night, Louis lapsed into silence. His sadness was encroaching on the perfect evening, the perfect first date, and he had just started to burrow deeper into Harry when Harry pulled his head up.

“Baby, you can’t burrow your way through my armpit. Are you that cold? Should we leave? Oh.” He frowned. “You’ve got that look again. What’s up?”

“What look?” Louis said with wide, honest eyes. “I’m fine. Great. I promise.”

“You promised you’d be vulnerable with me.” 

Louis nodded, swallowing the nervous bubble that had risen in his throat. Harry looked so fond and so concerned, tracing the worried lines of Louis’ face with eyes that hadn’t left him all night. Not even when the waiter who brought their drinks over blatantly flirted with him in front of Louis.

“Okay. I just…I wonder if I’ll ever feel like I deserve this.” He ran his hand up Harry’s chest, gripping his shirt. “If I’ll ever feel like I should get to be this happy with you. Because I hurt you. And I have so much to heal from. Still. The sex with you was…mind-blowing.” He smiled softly and Harry mirrored him. “I mean, it was really and truly fantastic. I felt so safe. I always do with you…”

Louis turned his face away and Harry palmed the sides of his neck.

“But?”

“But it won’t always be like that, you know.” He still couldn’t look at Harry and instead fixated on the yellowish glow of the lights in the apartment building next to them. He wondered if the people inside had dead parents or absent ones or sexual traumas they couldn’t recover from. People kept trying to tell him pain was just a part of life, that he wasn’t any different from anyone else, but if the world felt this cruel to everybody, how did they live with it? He knew his answer when he thought of Harry, always at his side. “I won’t always be ready or willing or trusting. I still get scared. Sometimes. I could hurt you. I could hurt myself. I can’t…I can’t promise you it will always be this light. I don’t want to drag you down with me.”

“I know. I know exactly how hard this might get.” Harry’s voice broke his stupor and Louis turned back to find his boyfriend tearing up, hands shaking where they gripped him tight. “And I don’t care. You’re not a fucking burden to me, christ. You’re my karma.”

“I’m your what?”

“For every sad thing that has ever happened to me. For every loss. And every failure.” He reached up to catch a tear and Louis’ throat ached. “You are my good karma. That’s the only way I know I deserve _you_. And I thought you’d changed your mind, just now. Again. I really did. And the thought of losing you—”  
  


“You will never lose me. Never.” Louis brought Harry’s shaking hand up to his mouth and took his glove off. He kissed the long, pale fingers that moved inside him a week ago and that had been intertwined with his own this morning when they walked into school, the ones he hoped he’d still be holding when they were grey and old. “I will never leave you. I promise. I’m just scared, the same way you are. But I have to trust you and you, me. I love you, Harry. I just want you to adore me the way you do now. Forever.”

Harry’s throat bobbed, on continuum, and he pulled Louis into a bruising kiss.

“You are the sweetest creature I’ve ever known, Louis Tomlinson.”

**2023**

_To Louis,_

_I know you might think it strange to find this letter on your desk when I was just with you. I dropped you off at your classroom this morning and watched you walk inside but I missed you immediately. Plus, I had to write to tell you how happy I am that you agreed to marry me yesterday after three wonderful years together. And I wanted to run something by you. My vows. So here goes:_

_Louis, I have loved you since the dawn of time, or so it sometimes feels. What is love of not the realisation of something you knew you needed long before you found it? I loved the shape of you beneath a streetlight long before I saw you standing there, as fragile as you’d ever be in front of me for years, until you learned to trust me. Implicitly. As you do now._

_Louis, I will love you the way a mountaineer loves the sharp, steep curve of a summit, revealing itself metre by metre, moment by moment. I will love you through the petty jealousies of friends who wish they knew you as well as I do and lovers who wish they had an ounce of what I have when you’re lying in bed next to me, curled up like a seashell on the shore. I will love you through school meetings with PowerPoint slides we don’t watch and arguments we don’t hear because we’re drawing conversations into each other’s hands in a language no one but us speaks._

_I will see you through every wedding of a friend we both dislike whose reception we don’t want to dance at and whose present table we don’t want to add to. I will love you through the thumping remains of a hangover you treat with romance books and tea. I will love you through a cold that might as well be the plague when it comes to your dramatics. I will love you when the tendrils of your past curl around you like tentacles, snatching your good dreams, and leaving you with bruised eyes the morning after._

_I will love you when the white of weddings in the moonlight turns to the black of funerals in the daylight. I will love you when you can’t tie your tie but for shaking hands and the ends of your sentences sound like whimpers. I will love the sound of your mother’s voice in recordings you won’t delete and the video your father made of her holding your first ultrasound, adoring you immediately, just as I did. I will love you in the ways you have not been loved, in the ways that your father failed you and the ways that you have just begun to love yourself._

_I will love you for the glimmer of madness in your smile and the cheekiness in the crinkles by your eyes. I will love you even if you abstain from sex or abstain from eating your greens, as you are prone to doing, and only read authors who haven’t written or been alive for the last hundred years. I will love you like strawberries in cream or lemon over ice, like the silence of a library that stems the obnoxiousness of a student and the sound of your voice that lulls me into a state of calm._

_I will love you like your hands love the rough texture of a paperback and your body loves the expensive soap I buy just to have an excuse to bathe with you. I will love you like bad 80’s pop, or wine and cheese for two, or the way that you look in your lacy underwear and my open shirt._

_I will love you as if it is my duty to love you; though it is my pleasure. I will love you in bright gold sunshine today, on our wedding day, and in cadmium yellow when we bring our first baby home. I will love you in melancholy blue through our first loss as husbands and in Earl Grey through our first loss as parents with the onset of empty nest syndrome. I will love you in sepia when parenthood gives way to the real pleasures of retirement and in black and white when everything about you and I seems old fashioned to everyone but us._

_I will love you, even if you cannot love me, even if you are sometimes sadder than I can make happy. I will love you. Always. I will love you with faith, trust and a little pixie dust. As I take you, Louis William Tomlinson, to be my lawfully wedded husband, I promise to love you better than fiction, better than your dreams, better than you ever thought you deserved because you do. You deserve this little eternity with. I will love you to the end of time and beyond, my husband. My soulmate. My Louis._

_What do you think? I can’t stand the anticipation of seeing you at lunch, or after school, that has never waned after all these years. Wait for me, always. Promise me you’ll always be waiting for me._

_Love from your fiancé,_

_Harry .xx_

_To Harry,_

_I cried in front of my students. You bastard. Can’t wait to be your fiancé. I promise I’ll wait for you. Always you. Only you. I’ll meet you in Neverland after school. Second star to the right and straight on ‘til morning._

_Your Lou x_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for spending your free time on something I wrote. It means the world. If you have any more time, please consider leaving a comment or kudos or even coming to chat to me on tumblr. I'm lovehoperomance.   
> Hope this was a good enough ending. Love you all x
> 
> Final disclaimer: The way I dealt with Louis' trauma is not entirely realistic. I tried to convey that it wasn't all smooth sailing for them but obviously sex and relationships and trust can be huge issues for victims of sexual assault and that is to be expected. Always be patient and understanding with your partner and keep in mind that sex might never be something that feels natural or easy (or mind blowing) to them. To any sexual assault survivors who may read this, just know I think the world of you for surviving. You are brave beyond measure.

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter is 1 of 4. It's all written, just needs to be edited. I should have an update by the end of this week at the latest.
> 
> Thanks for reading. Please take a second to let me know what you think if you can. Love to you all x


End file.
